100 Days of Ace Being a Buttwipe
by Haurvatat
Summary: Men only call each other brother when they've called each other a lot of other things first.  Ace & Whitebeard Pirates-centric. Mostly Ace, Thatch, and Marco.  No pairings, cutesy. Rated for lang.
1. Day 32

So hi! On a One Piece binge, as you might know. Or, more specifically, on a D Brothers binge. Ace, you are my plot bunny to end all plot bunnies. We didn't get to actually see that much of you, so that means all those blank spaces in your life ARE FORFEIT TO THE FANDOM. You might actually be better off in the big pirate ship in the sky, I'm sorry to say.

But yeah. So we know Ace spent exactly 100 days on Whitebeard's ship trying to assassinate him. Every. Stinking. Day. And then he joined the crew and happy-happy joy-joy shit. I was intrigued from the start, because being abandoned in (what surely to Ace's mind would be) a hostile environment, alone, afraid of failing in the one ambition he's ever had in his life, afraid of finding a new purpose because it would betray his promise to his dead brother and his living one, constantly associating being Pirate King with the freedom that Sabo died to achieve... That kind of mental torture for 100 straight days is terrifying. I was wondering how Ace got acclimated enough to accept the Whitebeard pirates into his affections over those 100 days. What changed? How? What went through his head? These are questions I don't pretend to understand, but I figure Ace and I have very similar personality types, simply because people like me are giant drama bitches on the inside, terrified above all else that other people won't like us for who we are. In short, this shit makes for better fiction. Mmmmm, drama.

**WARNINGS:** No pairings, Ace being adorable, Ace being a buttwipe, DRAMA LIKE WOAH, nothing in sequential order _ever_ because that's just not how I roll, etc.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own One Piece. If I did, there would be a spinoff series devoted entirely to the Whitebeard pirates, because that just plain _needs_ to be done.

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><p><span>100 Days of Ace Being a Buttwipe<span>

On the 32nd day of Ace's daily attempts to assassinate Whitebeard, he had already exhausted pretty much everything he already knew. All his tricks and clever schemes had more or less been used up, even though his burning will and determination still were going strong. He decided that he needed to explore the unfamiliar territories – he had to expand on his current knowledge and understanding of himself and his own abilities if he ever hoped to win against the massive hulk of a man that stood in his way. In short, he would never surpass Whitebeard if he did not first surpass himself.

Now, that sort of logic was easy to work out. It took Ace less than 10 minutes of deep thought to come to that conclusion, and the only reason it took that long was because he'd fallen asleep in the middle of his thought process. The difficult part was how one was to go about it. How the hell do you surpass yourself? Was there even something to discover, something upon which Ace could further expound? Ace lit shit on fire. That was pretty much the size of it. It had always been just dandy before, but that baseline wasn't working so well for him now.

Okay, so _Hotarubi_ had been particularly inspired. It wasn't just fire; it started out like tiny fireflies, tiny globes of light that gave off no heat, but merely floated in the air and drifted in a thoroughly beautiful fashion – until Ace detonated them at his whim, which was always the fun part in his opinion. So his powers could be used to generate light, but a substantially lowered heat output.

Another thing he always noticed was that whenever he used his powers: stealth was nearly impossible. The flames would crackle and pop as they licked around his skin, and anyone with even one functioning ear could hear him coming long before they saw him. Normally, that was irritating and something he'd give anything to be rid of, but what if… What if…?

"Hey, Ace," said Marco. The poor boy nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Shit, when did you get there?" he asked.

Marco shrugged unconcernedly. "I've only been sitting down here with you for… what, maybe a minute or two? You didn't miss much, all things considered. Want something to drink?" He offered a full mug of whatever-the-hell-it-was that most of his shipmates beyond him were guzzling so greedily, singing extremely embarrassing songs and steadily making their way towards true offensiveness.

"Er, no thanks," Ace said. Marco shrugged again and set it down between them. It wasn't clear for whose benefit it was he did so.

"So, what were you thinking about so seriously that you didn't hear or see me?"

"Been playing with something."

"Playing?"

"Yeah," Ace said. "In my head. There's something I'm trying to explore a little bit, and it might be worth looking into."

"Care to say what?"

Ace was a suspicious man. Not by nature, of course, but the circumstances of his birth made it quite impossible for him to be anything else – certainly not as trusting and naïve as his little brother Luffy. Regardless, there was something about Marco… something steadfast, which spoke of absolute trust. It was like telling a secret to a brick wall: who was the brick wall going to tell? Yes, there was always the risk that if Ace did manage to figure out how to work out the concept he was thinking of, that Marco would turn around and tell Whitebeard how to deal with it, but for some reason, Ace didn't think Marco was the sort to do that. For one thing, he'd noticed that pretty much the entire crew was of the opinion that Whitebeard was invincible. Why would they bother giving the man a leg up when he clearly didn't need it? For another, it was Marco. Actually, that was all that needed saying. It was Marco.

"Okay, I'll tell you. Just don't laugh," Ace said.

Marco got the intense feeling like something important just happened and he'd missed it. He turned his body to face Ace a little more, eyes opening just the tiniest bit wider to show that Ace had his full attention. Whatever it was he'd just missed, he had no desire to miss anything else. "I promise not to laugh, unless you're about to make a joke just to screw with me."

"No jokes. Okay, so…" Ace ran fingers through his already-tousled black hair and cleared his throat. "How much do you know about chemistry and gaseous physics?"

It took everything in Marco's power not to look at Ace like he was clean off his rocker. "Not much," he finally confessed.

Ace rubbed his face with his hands. "Ugh, okay. I'll try and use layman's terms. If I start going off into lala land and start saying stuff that doesn't sound much like English anymore, just stop me, okay?" Marco nodded. "You know when it's really hot out and the heat makes the air almost move in waves?"

"Yeah. Mirages."

"Bingo. And various chemicals can burn different colours and all that, right?"

"Uhh, I guess…? Wait, no, you mean like fireworks?"

"Yes! Exactly. You can get them to achieve specific forms, colours, sizes, everything! Well, what if you could control not only how long they last but their exact positioning without using any kind of propulsion or adhering to gravity? In the same vein, those noises produced by vibrations in the air following the rapid expansion of atmospheric gases? What if those could be controlled, too? Like, Hertz, decibel levels, duration, the whole nine yards! Complete illusory powers, I'm telling you! If I could learn how to do this shit, this would be fuckin' amazing! I'm trying to play around with how it might work, but I can't see any way to achieve it quickly or discreetly, and I'm trying to do both. Hell, even if I only got a good grip on one of those two, visual or auditory, it'd still be enough to throw someone off their guard for a few seconds. Most battle relies on the unconscious movements of the combatants, anyway, so to distract the unconscious even for a moment is enough to delay reaction time by just enough to… I've lost you, haven't I?"

Marco had somewhere along the line started staring slack-jawed at Ace. He'd been a little hard to follow, but not terribly. What shocked Marco speechless were two things: one, the complete authority with which Ace laid out his own theoretical physics (why the hell was this guy a pirate, anyway, with brains like those?); and two, the look on Ace's face. It lit up his eyes like the fireworks he spoke of. His whole expression was alit with excitement and curiosity. He was utterly captivated by his own ideas, fueled by the world he lived in, and the effect was beautiful to watch. Marco had had no problem with the kid beforehand, but it had mostly been tolerance with a slight amount of pity. Perhaps a little hope, as well, that Ace might end up being one of his innumerable brothers. But now… Marco felt he had seen something that few others in all the world had. Ace had been sulky and brooding when approached in a brushoff manner, but approached the right way… he was a bright and eager child, still in love with the unknown and adventure. Marco decided. He wanted this child… no, this young man… to be his brother. He was going to have a nice chat with Oyaji before they all went to sleep, and see if somehow, the old coot had managed to see all that even before Ace let his walls fall. It sounded like the sort of thing he'd keep to himself, cackling drunkenly about the innocence and vitality of youth. He got creepy sometimes, but it didn't mean he wasn't right on the dot with his observations.

"You didn't lose me," Marco finally got around to saying. He had almost lost track of what the subject was. "I'm just kinda impressed. How long have you been thinking about this?"

Ace shrugged, cheeks the slightest bit pink. "Dunno. An hour or two, maybe. But I thought of something else, too! You know how steam is really really dangerous? Like, how pressurised steam can cut things far better than even a diamond cutter, or a sword, or anything? Well, if I could get this small box, or rod, or – hell, _any_ kind of device – and fill it full of water, then make a tiny slit and cover it with something, like maybe something spring-loaded… and then heat it up as fast as I can in battle? Long distance cutlery, right there. Nothing says badass like explosive decompression."

"I got yer explosive decompression right here!" bellowed a passing drunken crew member before farting loudly, guffawing at his own joke as he passed.

Ace covered his face with the palm of his hand, the ever-suffering teenager in the flesh. "See, this is why I don't drink."

"Valid."

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><p><strong>(AN): **Those who have read my work before know the maxim: Review fast or die slow. Not that that means you should leave short reviews. I love me some long, thoughtful reviews. Even the super-harsh critical ones, because it means you gave enough of a shit to tell me.**  
><strong>


	2. Day 3

I told you these might end up being out of chronological order. Deal with it.

Btw, in all my One Piece stories, people curse like sailors. Why? THEY ARE SAILORS. Again, deal with it.

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><p><strong><span>Day 3<span>**

Marco highly suspected Ace of having serious brain damage. Maybe it happened as a child; maybe he was dropped on his head from three floors up onto concrete. Maybe it was a recent thing and the very first bop on the head from Oyaji Whitebeard had permanently deactivated the part of his frontal lobe that told him when whatever it was he was about to do was really fucking stupid. Marco couldn't be sure without an MRI or brain surgery, and he figured things like that were often best left to professionals. So, the mystery remained.

But damn, the boy was stubborn. He had been on the ship for three days already, his assassination attempts almost constant. He hadn't slept in all of that time, and each time a crew member offered him any kind of food, he'd had this look on his face like he fully expected it to be poisoned and wouldn't take a bite. He was probably going to die at this rate, and not because of anything Oyaji did.

Marco sighed and stared at the plate of food that had been left near the kid, untouched as always, and vaguely wondered who really thought it was worth the effort to keep trying. Probably Thatch. The man didn't understand how someone could honestly go without food for as long as the five hours between meals, let alone three days. He was also probably as annoyingly stubborn as Ace. If Ace were a more friendly, open sort, Marco wouldn't have been surprised to find the two good friends.

There was something else, though, something that was even more concerning than the rest. Ace also refused any medical treatment. The kid had been more or less beaten into the ground repeatedly over the last three days, and the injuries were piling up faster than they could heal, especially without nutrition or rest that were needed for most healing. For a Logia user, it really shouldn't have been a problem, but it was. If anyone needed a great big neon sign indicating just how worn out Ace was getting, the bruises, the scabbed-over cuts, and the ginger way he held his injured knee and collarbone were most definitely it. Marco wouldn't be surprised if the kid had whiplash and a concussion on top of it all, what with the way his head had collided with various very solid parts of the ship over the last three days.

Marco hadn't realised he was staring in Ace's direction, lost in his thoughts as he was, but it was a good thing. With no warning, the boy keeled over, sprawled limply on the deck as though dead.

"Shit!" Marco cried.

"What, what's going on?" called someone from the mess hall.

"Somebody get Josh or Selma! The kid just fuckin' collapsed!" Joshua and Selma were both talented doctors on the ship, and Marco felt one of the innumerable nurses there for Oyaji just wasn't going to cut it.

"You sure we should? I mean, it's not he's like he's one of ours," said the other man.

"Just go!"

Marco bent over Ace, hurriedly checking the pulse in his neck. It was very faint, but definitely still there. It also seemed he was breathing, though there was no way he could be getting quite enough air when his breaths were so shallow.

Josh made it there first. "What's wrong with him?" he asked.

"I don't know. He was sitting there and then I watched him drop like a rock. Is he okay?"

Josh made a long-suffering face. "Kids these days don't know how to take care of their own damn bodies. Did he eat?"

"No. He hasn't slept, either."

"Jesus. No fuckin' wonder. Well, when the head is being a dumbass, the body has its ways of getting revenge. He's probably going to be out for a while until he's gotten what his body deems an acceptable amount of rest. I wouldn't advise trying to get food into him right now, but when he wakes up, he'll need something bland. Small portions at first. If he eats too much when he gets up, he might not be able to keep it down. While he's out, though, I'm gonna see what I can do to patch the poor bastard up. Is there a place where I can examine him?" He looked up at Marco expectantly.

"What, the infirmary won't work?" Marco asked, confused.

"Nope," Josh said. "I've learned my lesson not to go poking around with Fire types when they're out cold and not in control of their actions ever since _somebody_ lit one of the infirmary beds on fire in his sleep." Marco had the decency to cough and look the other way. "But he still needs attention that we can't give while he's awake. I need a bed that's fireproof."

Marco ran fingers through his hair. "…Fine. You can use my bed. But just this once! It ain't happening again!"

"Yeah, yeah. Just grab his legs for me. This fucker might not be eating much, but he's still heavy."

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><p>Josh had done all he could, coming close to drowning the boy in bandages and applying splints for both his knee and his collarbone, though only his collarbone was broken. He left Marco's room with a stern warning to keep Ace there if he tried to get up without permission.<p>

Marco sighed. He was all for keeping Ace out of trouble, but now, where was he supposed to sleep? There was only the one bed and it was only so big and Marco sure as hell wasn't keen on sharing it with an already-paranoid-as-fuck kid who would probably end up hurting himself if he woke up in that kind of situation. He seriously considered putting some blankets on the floor for Ace and crashing in his own bed for the night, but eventually dismissed the idea with mild remorse. Ace was still hurt and underfed, so he probably needed as forgiving an environment as could be given. The night was fast approaching and Marco needed to make sleeping arrangements as quickly as possible. Preferably fireproof sleeping arrangements. If he was jostled around too much in his sleep, he really did have a tendency to react automatically and transform before his brain really caught up with the situation, thereby resulting in charred furniture and crewmates that ranged from pissed to highly amused. He had been the punchline of jokes for weeks last time it happened.

One thing Marco couldn't believe was how soft Ace's features really were. His face had always been rather dark and closed off when he was awake. He barely spoke, and when he did, it usually had a bite of venom or bitterness to it. Now, asleep, he looked downright sweet. A small almost-smile graced his lips and every hard line had been erased. He looked so utterly calm and peaceful. If Marco didn't know better, he'd expect purring. Somehow, one hand found its way winding through Ace's jet-black hair. Marco was starting to bald himself, young though he was (he cursed genetics six ways from Sunday every time he was reminded of it), so the feeling was perfectly luxurious. Ace's hair was soft and smooth like silk, although it might be in need of a good washing soon.

When Ace started mumbling, Marco nearly jumped a few feet in the air. When he saw the boy was still very much asleep, he settled, but his (this time) figurative feathers were still a little ruffled. What calmed his the most was the serene smile on Ace's face and the tiny, happy noises coming out of him. He was unprepared for the arm that was slung around his neck that pulled him down.

"Oi, oi," he whispered, not sure if he should wake the guy up.

"Just get some sleep, Luffy. Not all of us are hyper at midnight like you," he mumbled, pulling Marco closer and, to all appearances, cuddling him. The older man wasn't sure just what the hell was going on any more. But hey, this might just solve the issue of where he was going to sleep tonight. Ace clearly had no problems sharing the bed, and it wasn't like either one of them stood a risk of harming the other with their flames, so… why not?

Cause it's weird and he's gonna be pissed when he wakes up, said Logic. Whoever this Luffy guy is, you're not him, and that's going to be glaringly obvious come morning.

But is he going to be pissed or will he be more embarrassed when he finds out he's the one who started the whole thing? said Intuition. How can he really blame you when it's all his own doing? You may as well model that his behaviour wasn't offensive to you at all and ease the shame come morning.

Intuition won. That, and Marco was seriously tired. It had been a long, hard day full of emotional turmoil and dinosaur fights (well, perhaps less of that last bit), and Marco was still very much human despite being a part-time mythical beast of legend, and he needed some damn sleep.

He crawled in next to Ace as best he could and put out the flaming thumb he'd been using as a lamp. He fell soundly asleep within ten minutes.

* * *

><p>Marco woke up early, like he always did, and slipped out of bed to go wake up the rest of the ship with his own special brand of obnoxious phoenix squawking. Amidst the crowd of yawning sailors, he sought out Josh.<p>

"Is it safe to wake him up yet?"

"Uh, yeah. Probably. I'd feel better if he got some food in him and then went back to sleep, though, honestly. Hell, I'd like to prescribe that for myself, but not all of us are lucky enough to have concussions…" he said.

"Thanks, man."

"No problem. Hey, what are the odds you can 'forget' to wake everybody up tomorrow?" Marco ignored the question, chuckling, and jogged back to his room.

He opened the door slowly so it wouldn't creak, padding into the darkened room. Ace had wrapped his arms around the pillow in lieu of a human target, but was still sleeping soundly.

"Hey," he whispered. "It's morning." There was no response. He gently shook Ace's arm. "You gonna wake up or what?"

Ace mumbled gibberish and took a vague swipe at Marco's arm. "C'mon Luffy… Five more minutes. Make your own damn breakfast…" He promptly rolled over and pulled the comforter up around his ears.

"I'm not Luffy."

Ace sat bolt upright with a loud curse.

"So that got your attention, huh?"

"Shit, man, what happened?"

"You conked out," Marco said.

"I passed out?"

"A swoon any fair maiden would be right proud of."

Ace let out a highly embarrassed groan and fell back against the pillow.

"Hey, that's what happens when you go three days without food, rest, or medical treatment. To be frank, I'm surprised you didn't do it sooner. You gonna eat now? Promise we won't go to the trouble of adding bleach or arsenic or something."

"How do I know that for sure?"

"We went to the trouble of patching you up, didn't we? And that happens to be my bed you're luxuriating on." Ace looked down as though realising for the first time where he was and coloured. "And all that besides, you don't know me well, so I'm going to say this once. If I ever kill you, you're going to be facing me in battle at the time. We clear?"

"…Okay," Ace said.

"I'll get you something small. Doctor's orders are not to eat yourself sick. You're not supposed to get out of bed yet, either."

"Okay."

Marco was about to close the door behind him when he leaned his head in. "So… Who is this Luffy you kept mumbling about and why do you two sleep in the same bed?" In closing the door in his hasty retreat, he heard a bellowed, "流口水的婊子和猴子的笨兒子"

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><p>(AN): For those who don't speak Chinese or watch Firefly, that last line reads, "Stupid son of drooling whore and a monkey." For some reason, I feel like Ace should have a large vocabulary of words that Dadan would have forbidden him to say but he wanted to say anyway, so he used other languages so he wouldn't get caught. Mandarin Chinese seemed as good a language as any.


	3. Day 41

Yaaaaay! I updated twice in less than a day! This NEVER happens! I'm serious though; don't expect it again.

I'm so happy I got to write Thatch. I have OCs for Whitebeard's crew members coming out of my ass (see a nice little list of potential future characters in my other fic, 'Whatever God' and tell me what you think each of them should be like – some of them have details included about them, but most don't, so I need ideas for their characterisations and purpose among the crew) but the canon guys are still fun to see wandering around.

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><p><strong>Day 41<strong>

Thatch bounced on his heels. Today was the day. Marco was gonna shit a brick. How convenient that he had to come back from a week-long trip today of all days. Poetry.

The man carefully balanced a tray in each hand and nudged open Marco's already-unlocked-via-lockpicking bedroom door with a foot. That should be the last of it; anything else would be simply impractical. Everything was perfectly in place as it was, and Marco would get one hell of a surprise when he got home. All that was left was to remove any evidence that Thatch was involved, including washing the ever-loving crap out of the trays and bowls he'd borrowed from the kitchens for his joke. Marco might not be an astrophysicist, but he was still smart, and would probably cast his suspicious eyes on Thatch first, so he would have to have a poker face like never before if he fully intended to pull this off. He'd also have to fabricate an excuse to follow Marco to his room, because after all the work he put into it, there was no way on God's green earth he was going to miss Marco's face when he saw.

Cackling madly to himself, Thatch turned to leave the room. What stopped him dead in his tracks was Ace staring at him blankly from the still-open doorway of Marco's room.

The boy always had a nervous energy about him and wandered around almost constantly, so Thatch really should have seen it coming. What was worse, he knew that Ace and Marco were on relatively good terms, both being fire-types and inclined to sympathise with the other. Balls… if Ace blabbed, Thatch was in deep shit. Deep shit that was probably going to be on fire. And then Oyaji might get involved, and at that point, all bets were off. The Commander of the Fourth Division paled dramatically, not that anyone could see it in the shadows of the still-darkened room.

"H-hi, there, Ace… Buddy. How's your day going?"

Ace had a look on his face that spoke of such what-the-fuckery that Thatch nearly bust out in nervous giggles. "Dare I even ask what you're doing? I mean, this is Marco's room, right?" he said quietly.

Thatch coughed and scratched the back of his head. "Uhh… It might be; yeah."

"So what are you-"

Ace didn't get a chance to finish his thought as Thatch darted forward, yanking him into the room with an arm wrapped around his shoulders conspiratorially. "Listen, Ace. You know Marco gets back today?"

"Yeah…"

"And you know what day today is?"

"Yeah, but don't tell me you're seriously-"

"Ace, you can't tell anybody about this. Marco would kill me. Hell, now that you know, you're in just as much danger as me, fellow prankster or innocent bystander status notwithstanding. Not even taking into account how much time I spent on all of this! You've got to admit, this is a thing of beauty."

Ace cautiously lit up his hand and held it around. His eyes widened and he whistled in appreciation. "Shit, man. You really went all out, huh?"

Thatch grinned. "I never do anything halfway. Surely you've figured that out by now."

"I guess not. But is Marco the type who can take a joke? He seems kinda…" Ace trailed off, trying to gesture with his hands to fill in the blank.

"Oh, yeah, he's got a stick the size of a warship up his ass, but that's really what gives it sport."

"It'll be a _contact_ sport if he finds out it was you."

"Well, I'm not gonna tell him. Were you planning on telling?" Thatch gave the kid his best puppy-dog eyes. "Please don't. I want to keep my balls."

Ace rubbed the bridge of his nose, laughing like he wasn't quite sure what else to do. "…Fine. This once. Don't expect me to go pointing him in the wrong direction if he asks, though."

"Thanks, my man. You know, you are a seriously okay guy. There aren't many who would risk pissing Marco off. I owe you one." Thatch grabbed Ace up in a big friendly hug and darted out the door before Ace could get out more than an embarrassed squeak.

Left alone in the still-dark room, Ace just stared after the departed man, red in the face and dumbfounded. "…What the hell did I just agree to?" he asked the walls.

* * *

><p>"Welcome back, son!" boomed Whitebeard. "Are we readied?"<p>

"Completely," Marco said with a smile, still shouldering the bag of all his crap that he took with him on trips. "Had to borrow an extra skiff just to get all of it out this far, but I got it all. George even did us a favour and threw in a couple extra barrels of sake. I don't even think he charged us full price for the flour, either."

"Excellent. George really is such a generous sort. We can't come to expect it, though; he has no reason to be that free with his goods. He must be in a good way just now."

"Seemed that way to me," Marco said.

"Well?" Whitebeard growled out to the rest of the men. "What are you waiting for? Marco can't be expected to haul up all of that on his own! Are you going to sit on your fattened rumps or help the man?" Under the noise of the flurry of movement, Whitebeard bent low. "So, Marco, is there anything left over in the budget?"

"Don't worry; we have enough to fix the railing you broke with plenty to spare."

"I didn't break the damn railing; Ace did."

Marco rolled his eyes. "You threw Ace. He hit the railing. Kinda hard to change direction in midair. Ergo, sorry Oyaji, but you seriously did break the railing."

"Nonsense. The boy knows thermodynamics. He could've avoided it if he really wanted to."

"Mmm-hmm." Marco just chalked up another battle he was never going to win. "Did you see him in the last port town we visited, by the way?"

"Hm? No. He left the ship?"

"Yeah," Marco said. "I was surprised too. He haggles like an old pro. Saw him talk this one stingy old hag down to a third of the price she was asking. I bet we could let him handle the money one of these days. He's got a good face and a way of charming folk when he wants to; I bet we could get great deals on some of the harder-to-get stuff. Then you won't have to rely on me all the time. And besides, it's not like anyone else on this ship is any good with money at all."

"True. They spend like drunken sailors."

"They _are_ drunken sailors."

"Point taken. But if you're right, that's all the more reason to make him one of your brothers. Have you talked to him at all?"

Marco sighed. "If he asks, I'll answer. If he doesn't want to, he doesn't want to, and I've got no business meddling in his decisions if that's the case."

"You don't want him with us?" Whitebeard asked, looking put out.

"Of course I do! I like him plenty; he's a good kid. I just don't want to accidentally screw him over. He's gonna be a great man when he's got a few years on him."

"You're probably right," the huge man grudgingly admitted. "But I think it says something that he left ship at one point and then _got back on_."

Marco smiled. He'd hoped Oyaji would catch that detail. "Me too. Or at least I hope so."

"So, you must be tired. Lord knows you had to haul all of that nonsense back on your own. Get some rest for now, because I'm quite certain your brothers and sisters will kidnap you later in the name of feasting upon the new provisions, and I don't trust them to raid my kitchens without some sort of responsible chaperone."

"Which is me?"

"Exactly. Now go get some sleep."

Marco smiled, tossed a half-assed salute Whitebeard's way, and ambled off towards his room. He'd missed his own fireproof bed. He'd come close to igniting the cargo on the way back, and Lord knew that would have ended badly. Alcohol, flour under pressure, and ignition make for a pretty damn bad combination. It might be worth it to talk to Ace later and see if there was some sort of way to avoid that problem in the future.

Thatch ran into Marco in the hall, a huge grin on his face. "Hey! Welcome back, man! I hear you scored us some extra booze?"

"I might've. But right now, I'm gonna crash. If folk are planning on partying later, wake me up, but if you're not doing it now, I've got no reason to be conscious."

"Reasonable."

Marco furrowed his brows. Something seemed a little off and he wasn't sure what. It was just a vague sense of apprehension, but he knew it too well to dismiss it. "Thatch, what did you do while I was away?"

The twitch was barely there, but Marco's eyes caught it anyway. "What did I do? Well, I ate, I slept, I might've breathed a couple of times when I remembered to…"

"I'm serious. Did you fuck with any of my stuff?"

"Me? Never. You wound me," Thatch said. "Well, catch you later?"

"…I guess." Marco heard the man's footsteps behind him rapidly speed up as soon as he turned his back and braced himself for whatever the hell Thatch had most definitely done to his personal effects.

He approached his door and cautiously wrapped his fingers around the handle. It didn't have an electric current running through it… That was something. He pushed open the door in a swift movement and stepped back. No trapdoors, no buckets of water crashing down, no tripwires. Maybe Thatch hadn't been lying?

He flipped the light switch on the wall and cursed raucously. That filthy bastard had placed all of his smaller shit in jello.

* * *

><p>As Marco rampaged through the ship, bellowing for Thatch to get his lying whore ass out and face him like he was indeed in possession of any balls at all, both the target of his rage and Ace were giggling uncontrollably behind a panel in the wood on the second deck.<p>

"Thanks for giving me hiding place, man. I'd be dead by now if it weren't for you," Thatch said, wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes.

"No problem. Found this place when this one time I got flung into the wall and it felt kind of hollow. But seriously, you must have some kind of death wish or something."

"Naw, I just love April Fool's Day."

"Yeah, well, Marco doesn't."

Both burst out in fresh bouts of laughter, trying hard to stay quiet so Marco wouldn't hear them and nearly breaking ribs in the effort.

"You are awesome. High-five," Thatch said.

"Thank you. I try."

And thus their glorious partnership in evil began, even though when Marco eventually found them Thatch sustained major injuries and Ace, being a Logia user, remained unharmed.

* * *

><p>(AN): Oh, Thatch, only you. You're a bad influence on everybody, I hope you know.

For those paying attention to dates and how they line up, you should be able to puzzle out what the next chapter will be about. *wink wink*


	4. Day 75

**Day 75**

After two and a half months aboard Whitebeard's ship, Ace had settled into a steady routine. He usually got his daily assassination attempt out of the way in the morning so he could have the rest of the day free to do as he liked. The rest of the crew had grown quite accustomed to the whole arrangement as well and began using the loud noises of Ace fighting as a wake-call rather than Marco's piercing shrieks.

Therefore, understandably, most of the people aboard the Moby Dick were more than a little spooked when, one day, there were no crashing noises signaling the new day. No yells or shouts or growls or even the crackling of flame that everyone had grown so used to. Some wondered if they had just slept through it, but then, there were no new scorch marks on the deck or walls, either.

"Wait… did nothing actually happen yet?" asked Miranda, one of the navigators. "You must be joking."

"Did he finally quit?" muttered Charles. "The least he could do is give the rest of us some warning. Just when you think you get used to something…"

"No, I don't think that's it," Thatch said. "If Ace held out for this long, there's no way he'd just give up with no warning. There's gotta be something going on we don't know about."

"Well, we'll trust your judgment on this one, Taichou. You know him better than we do, anyway," said Norm.

One of the three Hannahs grabbed Thatch's arm. "Y-you don't think he's hurt or something from yesterday, do you? Should we check up on him? Maybe he's sick? Does he need anything from the kitchens, or should we go get Selma or Josh, or – or, what do we-"

"Calm down, calm down. I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation and you're all getting worked up for nothing," Thatch said.

"He's probably right. Besides, I'm not gonna complain. I got an extra hour of sleep today because he decided to take a break," Miranda said. "And at least we don't have to go through Marco's annoyingly shrill shit every morning anymore."

"So sorry I'm shrill. Let's give _you_ a bird's vocal chords and see what frequency _you_ hit," Marco growled as he stumbled out of his room, squinting his eyes against the sun.

"Sorry, Taichou," she said, not sounding sorry at all.

"You're up late, Marco. Aren't you normally the first up?" asked Thatch.

"Shut up, you. I'm afraid I got used to using Ace's banging around little an alarm clock, too. It's not like any of you can pass judgment, anyway."

"Speaking of which, does anybody know where he is this morning?"

Everyone looked around the deck, especially towards the bow where Ace usually liked to spend his early mornings.

"Hang on; lemme check the crow's nest," muttered Marco. He scrambled up the rope ladder on the mast like the true sailor's brat he was and peered in. Sure enough, there was Ace, lying on his back on the rough-hewn floor with his arms tucked behind his head and a happy smile on his face.

"Hey, man. You all right up here?" Marco asked, a bit thrown off by how very pleased the boy looked. Sure, exchanges between Ace and the crew had become somewhat pleasant in nature, but just because Ace was no longer bitter and angry all the time didn't mean he was the type to go around happy for no reason. His smiles were still rare things, and frequently fleeting.

"Never better," Ace said, sounding perfectly jubilant. Marco was downright creeped out now.

"Because there haven't been any explosions yet today, and while that would normally be a good thing, it's a bit of a change from the normal. Most of us woke up a full hour later as a result."

"Should I be saying 'sorry' or 'you're welcome'?"

"I'm not sure myself, but some are worried that you might be sick or injured or dead or deranged or possibly a combination of multiple such symptoms," Marco said.

"The first three are right out, but deranged is a title I've happily embraced since toddler-dom," Ace chuckled. "It's been applied more than once, as I'm sure you can tell."

"Oh, I have no doubt. Mind dispelling the rumours though and explaining why the sudden change?"

Ace suddenly had a look of mischief in his eye with which Marco was extremely uncomfortable. It was a look that spelled trouble every time he'd seen in on Thatch's face, but at least Thatch couldn't light the whole damn ship on fire with a thought if he was so inclined. "Oh, today I'm not really planning on starting anything. Just for today though."

"What's so special about today?"

Ace gave him a toothy grin. "Now that's a secret," he said, and with that cryptic remark, swung his legs overtop the low walls of the crow's nest and free-fell down to the deck, still looking for all the world like a cat with its favourite toy.

Marco felt a little better when he saw his crewmates stare after the boy with just as much incredulity and shock as he'd had himself. There was something profoundly strange going on, and he wasn't sure it was necessarily good.

* * *

><p>"Really? A secret, he said?" Thatch chortled. "Ace's got a flair for drama, I'll give him that."<p>

"I'll say he does. And what the hell do you think he meant about that whole 'not today' thing? I mean, he's been at it, what, two, three months now? Every single day! Like goddamn clockwork! And all of a sudden, 'not today'? I'm calling shenanigans," Marco growled, leaning over the table to keep others from hearing their conversation.

"Oh, quit your whining. I bet you my dinner it's nothing you need to be worried about. Ace isn't the type to fake or hide his emotions. He's pretty much brutally honest all the time, and by the time he tells you, you're going to figure out I was right all along," Thatch said.

"Don't count on it. I'll take you up on that bet."

"So loser doesn't eat dinner?"

"The loser can't drink any sake, either."

"Ooooh, raising the stakes, are we? All right, then. Done deal. Shake on it." They did, and Thatch couldn't help but laugh himself silly. Marco was not known for his talent as a betting man.

"But really," Marco continued, "if it were something totally innocent, why would he think to keep it a secret?"

"What, you never kept a good thing a secret when you were his age?"

"Hell, no."

Thatch raised an eyebrow. "You musta been a dull kid."

"Shut up," Marco said.

"Anyway, sometimes when something really good happens, you just want to hold it inside and savour it for a bit before you go and tell anyone. Kinda like when you take a big bite of the best steak you've had in your life and you just want to hold it in your mouth for a little while before you swallow because it's just that damn good."

"I just ate and now you've made me hungry again," Marco said.

"Just prepping you for how awful it's gonna be for you when you lose this bet," Thatch said, smiling.

"You're a dick and Ace is still hiding something."

"Eh, we'll know by the end of today. Maybe early tomorrow. If I'm right, he'll let the cat out of the bag by then. It'll be too good not to share, most likely. Just keep bugging him 'til he tells you."

"I'm not you. I don't hound people incessantly until they just want to smack me over the head with a skillet."

"Maybe you should start. It's a hell of a lot of fun."

Marco groaned. "You would say that."

* * *

><p>"So."<p>

"Hm? Whaddya need, Marco?" Ace asked. He still had that cheery smile on his face and though it was well past 5 o' clock, he had yet to try to kill Whitebeard. It had gotten to the point where crewmembers had stopped to ask him if he was feeling quite all right and if he perhaps needed to go the infirmary or something. Each time, he just laughed it off and said there was no need.

"You've got to tell me what's so important about today."

Ace looked thoughtful. "Mmmmm, I'm not really sure I do."

"Did something happen today, or what?" Marco asked.

"You could say that."

"Well, what the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"If I meant for you to know, I would've been specific."

Marco groaned, running his fingers through his receding hair. "You know, I think you're just messing with all of us."

"Really? Why would I do that?"

"I don't know, a new tactic or something?" Marco threw his hands up in the air. "I just think you're not telling me anything because there's nothing to tell."

"Oh, that's not true at all. There's definitely something to tell," Ace said infuriatingly.

"_Then what the fuck is it?!"_ Marco exploded.

Ace was laughing his ass off now, smacking the mess hall table with an open palm. "Oh… y-you… Oh God, your face just now… Gimme a minute here…"

"It's not fucking funny, asshole! I bet my dinner _and_ my alcohol on this!"

Ace actually looked taken aback, for all his amusement. "Is that so? Well, why didn't you say so in the first place?"

"Huh?" Marco blinked in confusion.

"See, remember when we – I mean, when Whitebeard stopped in port about a month and a half ago?" Marco nodded slowly. "Well, I picked up something from one of the shops and sent it to Fuschia."

"Isn't that your hometown?"

"Yeah. It's my little brother's birthday today! He should've gotten his present by now. He's 15!" he said, eyes shining with pride. "I swear, a month ago, he was 7, and all of sudden he's more than twice that. Thank goodness he's still shorter than me or I'd be pissed."

Marco just stared at him. Ace… Ace had a little brother? The only reason he'd known about Ace's hometown was because he'd asked about his accent once. "You're kidding," was all he managed to get out.

"Nope! Luffy's fully 15 today!"

Luffy. Luffy. _Luffy_. Ace's third night aboard the Moby Dick. Shiiiiiiiit. "Wait, _Luffy's_ your brother?"

It was Ace's turn to be surprised. "Wait, you know Luffy?"

"No; just what I've heard you say about him. I didn't know he was your brother, though," Marco said.

Ace scratched his chin. "I didn't think I mentioned him before. When was this?"

"Uhh, it was several months ago. I doubt you'd remember now," Marco said quickly, trying to cover his own ass.

"Wait, several months ago? But wasn't that when…" Ace's eyes widened. "Wait, shit – that's right! Aww, jeez," he groaned. "Just when I'd completely forgotten about that."

"Yeah. Sorry to bring that up and all," Marco said.

"Er, it's not a problem. I guess you finally get your explanation, though, huh?"

"There's that," Marco said sheepishly. "There's just one thing."

"Hm? What?"

"So all this weirdness was just for your brother's birthday?"

"Yeah."

"Nothing else?"

"Nope."

"No sinister plots?"

"None that I'd planned, at least."

Marco winced. "I'm not going to get to eat or drink liquor tonight, then. I just know Thatch is going to hold me to it. I don't suppose you'd be willing to fake a sinister plot for me, would you?"

"Well, I do declare, Mister Marco, are you asking me to try assassinating your Captain?" Ace asked in a coquettish falsetto that was more disturbing than anything else he'd done all day.

"Not in so many words, but… kinda."

Ace sighed, grabbing a knife from the table and pushing himself up. "Well, I suppose it's practically tradition now. I'd hate to ruin a perfectly good seventy-five-day-long streak. But only because it's you, Marco."

* * *

><p>(AN): Marco, you are so much fun to tease. Like, impossibly fun to tease. First I encase your personal effects in jello. Now this... I'm kind of a mean person, I think. Not that this was news.

EDIT: The timelines have been fixed. Before there was significant discrepancy in the the timeline of this chapter because it claimed to be day 75, day 76, and three and a half months in all at the same time. The only way the timeline works out is if it's day 75, because otherwise day 41 wouldn't be April Fools' Day. And I meant to put two and a half months instead of three. Maybe that's why I put 76 - because 30+31+15 = 76 making it properly two and a half months exactly. Keep in mind that I wrote this chapter before organizing a calendar for this fic, so of course I managed to screw up the whole thing.


	5. Day 82

Day 82

Whenever people visited the Moby Dick, Ace felt extremely uncomfortable. He always wanted to watch the action, but at the same time, he wasn't really a part of Whitebeard's crew, so was it all right to be seen as part of the same mass of people? What if they just assumed he was one of them? It was kind of grating, and at the same time, kind of warm a feeling. On one hand, Ace had spent a good eighty-two days refusing constant offers to join the crew, and he wanted that decision to be respected, even by people who knew nothing of the matter. On the other hand, there was a part of him that he kept ignoring and pushing to the side that really liked the people of the Whitebeard crew and rather wanted to be seen as one of them. It was thoroughly confusing and usually ended with Ace shrinking into himself, guilty and confused and with wounded pride. Normally, he avoided the whole thing and whenever someone strange popped up, as they did from time to time, he would duck below decks and loiter in Thatch's or Marco's room until they were gone.

What piqued his interest enough to leave the safe haven of the lower decks every time was when a young, up-and-coming challenger arrived, just as he had done two months and three weeks ago.

This time, instead of the brash young men who were so quick to admit defeat (Ace always felt superior in terms of persistence when they left after the first day, the wimps), the arrival was a tall, imposing woman who looked to be in her late forties. She had a cold glare and a razor-thin mouth, and she stood so proudly straight that Ace wondered if she might be wearing some sort of spinal correction gear that made her incapable of standing any other way. She had tightly curled, frizzing black hair that had been shorn off close to her head and wore stiletto heels that looked like they'd function just as well as the blades bearing the same name.

Ace's first thought was, Watch out everybody, we've got PMS on legs over here. He had to admit, it was a fairly adequate assessment. The crew seemed to have the same opinion, because instead of the good-natured laughing, ribbing, and placing of bets (normally on what single move Oyaji would use to smack the newcomer down), there a dark, though amused, kind of tension. She didn't look like a pushover, and while the crew was still more than certain of their captain's invincibility, she was still a harsh presence that seemed to challenge everyone around her.

Ace decided that between pride and getting to watch something that promised to be damn interesting, he'd go with entertainment. He had a feeling that the crew (he still wasn't sure about calling them his friends, even in his own mind) would be talking about nothing else all day, and to miss all the action would be criminal. He scooted up to the back of the crowd, but damn if all the men back there weren't tall as goddamn trees. Ace was fairly tall for his age, but he by no means towered over anyone. He'd have to get closer, squeamish though he was about mingling in with the crew.

Thatch solved his problem nicely. "Hey, you wanna get closer? I can't see shit from here," he said, suddenly appearing behind Ace. It seemed he'd been a little late in getting to the main deck all the way from the kitchens.

"Yeah, but, I mean, is it okay to-"

"Yeah, yeah! Don't worry about it. Just muscle through. That's what I always do."

"Okay…" Ace trailed behind the taller man (or maybe it was just his outrageously orange hair that was taller) and found himself closer and closer to the front of the pack. He could make out conversation now, at least.

"…too much control," the woman was saying. "To place the weight of the world on one man's shoulders is to ask for trouble. Let's not put all our eggs in one basket, shall we?"

Oyaji Whitebeard had a smile on his mouth, but his eyes were cold. "And what are you proposing, then?"

She smiled just as humourlessly as he did. "Hand over some of your domain, of course. You can't possibly need all of it. If you think about, you'll be doing the world a favour and increasing political and economic stability. How about it?"

"Now, I can't see why handing over my assets to a brainless chit will increase political and economic stability. If you want to have any power, you'll need to get it yourself, child. You've got a good few decades to go through if you want to talk to me about such things."

Her smile had vanished and a cruel sneer took its place. "You're old. If you died, you'd take the whole damn Grand Line with you. I bet you can't even hold on to your spoils any more and are just too proud to admit it."

"Oh, here it goes. She pulled the 'old guy' card," Thatch whispered excitedly.

"Shit just got real," Nick, a sniper, said.

The woman sprang into the air, yanking twin pistols from her belt and firing a good ten rounds at Whitebeard's chest and head. He had known this new bout of idiocy was coming, though, and plucked his massive halberd from the side of his chair where it had been leaning and used to blade to deflect each and every one of them. Raising the blade to look the woman in the eye, his glare was terrifyingly dark. She froze in place for an instant, and that was all it took. Whitebeard did nothing more than flick a finger in her general direction, and a shockwave threw her backwards into her own crew, who were also barreled over by the extreme force.

"Get off my ship, and think twice before you offer advice that is unwanted, you poisonous strumpet."

Her chest heaved with rage, her eyes narrowed to slits. "Don't you dare ignore me so easily, cantankerous old waste of the earth! Your death is faster approaching than you realise, with your pittance of an intellect! _No-one fucks with me,_" she hissed, and with that, turned her arm, still clutching one of her guns, to the side, emptying it straight into the crowd. Into the front row of bystanders.

Into Ace.

Ace almost quirked a grin, but managed to hold it back. He was a Logia type, after all, and guns did absolutely nothing. Normally, it actually felt kind of refreshing when people tried to shoot him. It was no more painful than a nice breeze.

He drew in air and instantly began coughing violently. He bent over, shocked beyond words that his right side… actually kind of hurt. He clapped a hand over his mouth, the other at his side, and continued to cough, feeling as though his right lung was being torn apart with every constricting breath he took. He pulled his hand back to examine it and could only stare at the blood he saw there. How…?

His eyes slowly shifted to the woman recovering herself in front of him, making the connection.

"Motherfu…" And with that, he fell back into Thatch's arms.

"ACE!" screamed Thatch and Marco both.

"What the fuck?"

"But bullets don't hurt him!"

"Oh my God, Ace!"

"Is he okay?"

"God damn it, somebody get a fucking doctor!"

The woman sneered, upset that she was no longer the centre of attention. "If he's a Devil Fruit user, then you may as well give up. My bullets are coated with a Sea Stone alloy. Even Logia types are susceptible to harm from-" She stopped dead in her tracks at the feel of cold steel on her throat. Whitebeard had risen from his seat, halberd resting neatly at the base of her neck.

"Explain to me," he said quietly, but with all the force of thunder, "why I should not kill you this very instant."

At that point, she must have realised that she had made one of the gravest errors a human can make: she had harmed someone under Whitebeard's protection. Her jaw locked, and her silence was likely the only thing that kept her head attached to her shoulders. Instead, Whitebeard slammed a fist into the air before her with a mighty cracking noise, and pitched her and all her crew into the sea. No-one looked to see whether they survived or not.

"How bad is he?" he asked.

Marco and Thatch were at Ace's head, Joshua and Selma already checking everything they could.

Selma looked up, her eyes dark. "It's not good, Oyaji. One bullet missed him entirely, but one's lodged in his right lung. Were it anywhere else, or not made of Sea Stone, I'd say leave it, but with things as they are…"

"We're going to have to do surgery," finished Joshua.

"If it broke a rib or two going in, it'll raise even more complications. Even under normal conditions, it's a risky surgery, especially when you're performing it in the middle of the ocean, but with Sea Stone thrown in the mix… Ace's body isn't going to react well. Recovery might be severely hindered. We'll do what we can, but as things are, I can't predict a success rate for you. We'll get on it right away," Selma said.

"Thank you, my children. Please help him, if you can," Whitebeard said.

Selma took charge, being the career surgeon of the two doctors. "Thatch! I know the equipment in the infirmary is already sterilised, but please do it again. I'm not risking infection when he's not going to be able to fight it off. Nick! Mikhail! Get me something we can use for a stretcher and get Ace to the infirmary right fucking now!"

The flurry of movement was instantaneous. No-one felt comfortable standing still and doing nothing when a friend needed them.

"What can I do?" asked Marco. The fear and worry that seeped into his voice caught the doctors' attention. They exchanged glances.

"While we're getting everything set up, could you wash him up as best you can to prep him for surgery? Just get the wound as clean as you can. And please, talk to him. Try to get his attention if he regains consciousness. I expect he'll have a good number of questions if he can think that far and it would be nice if someone were there to answer them. It's also best not to leave him alone any time soon," Selma said.

"Yeah," Josh continued. "And see if you can keep his head elevated. If he chokes on his own blood before we ever get a chance to help, it's not going to be good. If he sounds like he's choking, yell bloody murder and we'll be there."

Marco tried to take it all in, gulping. His grip on Ace's limp hand tightened.

Selma saw and leaned in closer to her commander. "Don't worry. We're going to do everything we can, and we're some of the best doctors in the Grand Line. Ace is strong; he'll pull through." The worry in Marco's eyes lessened slightly, and she gave him a thin smile.

Josh yanked her back over and whispered in her ear. "You can't make promises like that! What happens if this doesn't work?"

"Shut up. It's our job to make sure it does, now isn't it?" She stood up, promptly ending the conversation, to direct Nick and Mikhail in the proper method of transferring a critical patient to a stretcher and subsequently a bed in the infirmary.

Marco was still bent over the prone form of his friend, gripping his hand with white knuckles. "C'mon, Ace… Please be okay. Please don't make me be the one to have to go find your brother and tell him something like this happened. I won't do it. You can't make me tell Luffy I just stood by and watched his big brother get shot. Please stay with us. Luffy's only 15 still; he needs you. We all need you. Please… Please be here. Don't let something this small ruin everything. Please… brother."

* * *

><p>(AN): 'Kay, so, I'm a bitch. Cliffhanger like WUT. Also, sorry for the wait; I had to pack up my shit and then there was the car drive for Thanksgiving break and all of that and all things considered, it's just been a long day. I haven't really had much time to sit down and type. Thank goodness I already had most of the beginning typed up when I finally got to sit down with it again. Good times.

And besides, I never said these things would be standalone chapters! Please. I don't like being so predictable as all that.


	6. Day 83

I should mention, for reference, that in my mind, Ace, Luffy, and pretty much everybody else from Fuchsia has a thick Irish accent. I'm not sure why, but something about them just really reminds me of the country, and I'm certain there's all manner of symbolism to be found in both the revolutionary and piratic history of the place. Don't even get me started on Grace O'Malley.

Day 83

His heart beat thuggishly in his chest and his head felt like it was slowly spinning. His chest no longer had that sharp pain whenever he took a breath, but replacing it was a dull, always-present ache. Ace could not express how badly he just wanted to lie still and not move at all. If he could get by without breathing and agitating the spot where he knew he'd been shot, he would. Alas, no such luck. At least lying down didn't really require much blood flow, so he could breathe very shallowly and avoid the worst of the pain without too much trouble.

The one sensation Ace couldn't puzzle out without going through the trouble of opening his eyes was the warmth all along his left side. There was something large and soft enveloping his left hand, and he just couldn't concentrate enough to discern what the texture reminded him of. He cracked an eye wearily. It was a sign of how out of it he was (most likely doped halfway to Narnia on pain medication) that he didn't recognise Marco's wild patch of blond hair for a few seconds. The older man looked to have fallen asleep, clutching the hand of his downed friend. Ace smiled softly and closed his eyes again.

He heard a soft knock on the door, then the tiny squeak of the hinges as it opened.

"Marco? You awake? I brought you some breakfast," a voice said in a whisper. There was no reply, then a shifting of cloth. Ace could visualise the owner of the voice shaking Marco softly to wake him up. There was still no answer, followed by a heaved sigh.

Ace opened his eyes slightly again, just to identify who it was. A shock of black, exceedingly curly hair clued him in.

"Nick?" he asked, wincing as his voice came out a scratchy croak.

Nick's head jerked up, surprised. "Ace? You're awake already?" Ace nodded slightly, trying to crack a smile. "You feeling okay? You had a pretty shitty night, I hear."

"Eh, I'm okay," he said. "I don't remember much, anyway. Has Marco been here all this time?" He already knew the answer, but he still wanted to hear it from someone else.

Nick gave him a fond smile. "He hasn't left you once since about noon yesterday. Well, he had to leave the room when they were cutting you up, but soon as he got the okay, he scurried back. The man's been worrying himself sick."

Ace frowned. "He didn't need to do that. He should be sleeping in his own bed, at the very least."

"Eh, he's fond o' you. We all are, you know." Ace coloured and looked away. "We're also under orders to keep you lucid if you wake up, and since you're up, anyway…" Nick found a chair in the corner and swung it around, sitting in it backwards and setting the plate of food on the foot of the bed.

"So, when me 'n' Mikhail were hauling you to the infirmary, I heard Marco talking to you. Something about a little brother?"

"Yeah," Ace said, "Luffy."

Nick's face morphed into a massive grin. "Me too. Little sister, too, in-fact. Gwen and Myles. Gwen's still a toddler, but Myles is already 9 and more than my folks can handle. The kid doesn't seem to understand the whole concept of what is and what's not acceptable in public. Or private. Or at all. Doesn't seem to understand 'danger', either."

Ace began to laugh, but stopped when it really hurt. "Luffy's the same. He's 14 – uh, er, 15 now, actually. He just had a birthday a couple of days ago. It's going to take some getting used to."

"They get old so damn fast, huh?"

"No shit."

Nick wrapped his arms around the back of the chair and rested his chin on them. "So, tell me about him. What's he like? I bet you miss him."

"I do at that," Ace said. "See, Luffy's the kind of guy you can't hope to explain well, but I can try. You might not believe me until you actually meet him, and then you'll see I was right, you know? Well, first things first, he's got this straw hat of his that he never lets go of, and I mean never. I touched it once (just once!) and he actually yelled at me. And this is the sort of guy who you could stick a gun in his mouth, fire, and he'd still forgive you, mostly because he'd be fine, anyway. I touched his hat just once and he didn't talk to me for a week…"

* * *

><p>It was about two in the afternoon by the time Marco woke up to the noises of muted conversation. He suddenly jerked to full wakefulness at the sound of one familiar voice in particular.<p>

"…and so me 'n' Sabo are busy trying to get him out of the croc's throat before he gets swallowed and digested, right? He's laughing his arse off in there and I can't figure out why, when –"

"Ace!" Marco yelped. "Since when did you…?"

"Bit behind the curve, aren't you, Taichou?" Nick said from his chair on Ace's other side. "Well, at least you're up-to-date on your beauty sleep."

"How long was I out?" Marco muttered, rubbing his face with a hand.

"I don't rightly know," Nick said. "I came in with your breakfast-" he nodded to the plate at the corner of the bed that looked like it had already been somewhat ravaged "- and you were already out cold at the time."

"And I wasn't awake for much longer before that. But honestly, you needed your sleep. I wasn't about to wake you up," Ace said.

"Well, you should have. I was supposed to be keeping an eye on you."

"And half-kill yourself in the process? I thought you were smarter than that, Marco. You need to take care of your own body, and if you weren't going to do it, somebody had to," Ace said.

"But you're the one who got fucking _shot_ here! Who was taking care of _you_?" Marco whined.

Nick cut in. "You may not have noticed, but he's well and truly taken care of. I've been here since about 10 this morning, Selma's been in to check up on him, and she said all's well and good. He should be fine so long as he doesn't go bouncing around the deck for two weeks or so."

"Two weeks?" Marco frowned. He'd thought it would take much longer than that.

"Yeah," Ace grumbled. "Would've taken less time, but the bitch used hollow-point rounds."

"H-hollow point rounds?" Marco asked weakly. "How in the hell are you still alive?"

"You've never had Selma operate on you before, huh?" Nick asked. "The woman could sew your head back on and you'd be right as rain in a month's time. You just never found out because your powers normally keep you from being hurt, same as Ace here."

"I didn't think you could use Sea Stone in bullets, myself. Normally, the pressure cracks it, doesn't it?"

"That's probably why she used an alloy. She must've mixed it with something to keep it from busting when she fired."

"Add in hollow point rounds and you have yourself nine kinds of overkill."

"So what happened to her, anyway? I blacked out pretty fast and don't remember much."

Marco stiffened. "I don't know and I don't much care."

"I'm with Marco on this one," Nick said. "She fucked with you, and that's enough reason for me to shoot her right between her beady little eyes. Oyaji already chucked her and hers into the ocean, though. I haven't seen him that pissed in a while."

"…Really? He did that… for me?" Ace said, quiet as a breath of wind.

"He surely did. The rest of us would've done it, too. Much as you try to hide it, you're a really good guy, and we get no satisfaction out of seeing you hurt, especially for no reason at all. The bitch was just trying to kill someone to fuck with Oyaji, and that's no reason to riddle a kid with holes."

"All I can say is thank goodness only one hit you. She wasn't really aiming, anyway. I think the other went over your head," Marco muttered.

"That could've been bad…" Ace said. "My head is right where I like it to be at present."

"God won't let you die just yet," Nick said confidently. "Know why? 'Cause you are so. Very. Pretty." He leaned over with a grin and ruffled Ace's hair, pushing himself up from the chair. "Well, now that Marco's up, I gotta go do my job. It's past lunch, but do either of you want anything?" They shook their heads. "All right, then. Hope you feel better, Ace!" And with that, he left.

For a while, neither Ace nor Marco said anything, and they didn't meet each other's eyes.

"You should have gone to get something to eat," Ace finally said.

"Didn't much feel like it," Marco said.

"But when did you last eat?"

"…Sometime yesterday, probably."

"Damn it, Marco, you need to eat. Hell; you need to get out of this room. You've been here since God-knows-when. I appreciate it – you have no idea how much – but please just get some bloody air."

"But what about you?"

Ace tossed him a wan smile. "I'll be fine. Please. Go."

Marco stood up, hesitantly at first. He walked very slowly towards the door, then paused as his hand was on the handle. "If you need anyth-"

"I'm fine. Go."

He grinned slightly, then left. As the door shut behind him, Ace heaved out the breath he'd been holding.

He couldn't understand it. Not any of it. Why? Why would any of them go to such lengths for him? Marco and Thatch were downright pleasant to him, yes, and everyone else normally just accepted that he was there and went along with whatever the flow happened to be. He would share a joke or two occasionally, maybe a song if someone had managed to get him to drink to the point where he'd be willing to inflict his voice upon others… but this was madness. Marco stayed by his side for what, twenty-four hours? At least? He hadn't eaten or slept until by accident. The idea that anyone would do that for Ace was… unthinkable. The only person he could think of who might do that would be Luffy. Not even his old crew would do something like that. They hadn't even stayed a full day when he'd been beaten by Whitebeard for the first time. Some part of him was certainly surprised, yes, and shocked, but not as much with Marco as he was with Nick. He'd barely spoken to the man more than a dozen times, and then, not for very long. Somehow, he'd managed to earn his favour even so. That protective tone in his voice had been hard to miss, and the admission that any one of the crew would most likely feel the same way… It put things in perspective. He had shared his life with Nick, even if it was only a small portion of it, and it had felt bloody fantastic. The idea that these people liked him (though for the life of him, he couldn't puzzle out why) gave birth to an even warmer feeling. Even Whitebeard had protected him, the man who had been trying to kill him for over 80 straight days. None of it made any sense.

What was worse was that he was starting to think it did.

Maybe the crew wasn't crazy.

Maybe Ace was.

* * *

><p>(AN): And here we have a turning point. Don't worry! Even when I hit the end of the 100 days, I told you guys I wasn't going to do this in a necessarily chronological order, so I might go back and fill in the gaps I left. The angst-ridden first month I might skip a little, but… yeah. I dunno. The plot bunnies are still breeding. Have no fear.

It's good to be home with family this Thanksgiving. A lot of Ace's emotions are somewhat coming from how I'm feeling. God, I missed my folks. And my cats. There aren't any adorable cats to snuggle back in the dorm and it makes me depressed.


	7. Day 92

Note: the song Ace sings is a real Irish folk song. The version I like best is sung by The High Kings and is completely worth looking up if you're into that kind of thing. I didn't use the exact lyrics they did, though, because as a folk song, there really are many different phrasings that are acceptable, and some just make more sense to me than others, not to mention that I can't actually say anyone's from Ireland in this world.

Day 92

Marco knocked on the door to his captain's quarters firmly. He had been turning a thought over in his mind for some time now and needed to air it to someone who could do something about it. If anyone could help, it would be the man he knew as his father.

"Come in," he heard from within, and pushed the door open.

"Marco, my boy. What is it you need?" the gargantuan man asked.

Marco cleared his throat. "I've been thinking… Or, I guess, it's more like I can't stop seeing it in my head… I've been thinking about the week before last."

Whitebeard's eyes focussed. "When Ace was shot."

"Yes," Marco said. "When Holli decided to retire, we never filled the position of Second Division Commander. They're our main forward guard, and I feel like we are losing powers of enforcement the longer we go without. We've seen evidence of that already; that bitch never would have aimed a gun at any of us if she had been fully aware of the consequences. Publicly, we aren't seen as strong enough any more, and that might open up every last one of us for victimisation. I know we're strong enough to protect our own, and so does everyone else on this ship. The issue is that others are starting to forget, and that is inexcusable."

"So you propose we find someone to replace Holli?" Whitebeard said.

"Yes."

"You understand, though, that no yokel off the street will do. The Second Division has similar responsibilities to yours as First Commander, but they do three times as much running around. There aren't many whom I can trust to organise it well or run it efficiently. I haven't been leaving the position open out of sheer laziness, my boy. There must be someone to fill the spot well… and I suspect from the look in your eye you already have someone in mind?"

Marco grinned. "I might."

"You don't think it's a little premature to be suggesting him?"

"Oh, it's certainly premature. I'm just saying that if all the pieces fall into place, he might be a good candidate. We know he's smart. We know he's got a good head for logistics and organisation. He can fight. He's a good man and friend. He clearly is an excellent leader – look at what he accomplished as captain of his own crew in less than a year! We could search for years and never find someone as perfect as he is," Marco said.

Whitebeard gazed down at the smaller man thoughtfully. "You're quite passionate about this, aren't you?"

Marco's face darkened. "Quite aside from wanting Ace to be Second Division Commander… What happened to him must never happen again. To anyone. I won't let it. I don't want to have to go through that again, or have someone else go through that. If it really is just a symptom of a bigger problem, as I believe it is, the threat is real. I just want to protect my brothers and sisters with everything I have, everything at my disposal. If I hold back… next time, we may not be so lucky as we were with Ace. For God's sake, next time, we might not even be there to help. When my brothers would go out on missions alone, I did nothing but worry before. Now, it's infinitely worse. This sort of thing happened on our own ship. Under all of our eyes. What will people think they can get away with when our men are alone, unaided and unprotected? This is the only way I can think of to protect them when we aren't there physically to help. If it means exercising an iron fist, or in Ace's case, counting my chickens before they've hatched, then so be it. I will not lose my family just because I was too reserved to bring my thoughts to anyone's attention."

"Well said," Whitebeard said, nodding. "I suspect you're right. I was thinking about it myself, but I admit it did not occur to me to build up our Second Division. I knew I kept you around for something."

Marco smiled widely.

"Understand that even if Ace does decide to become your brother in the end, that this will have to be a slow process. He'll need to work his way up to the office. It won't be fast or simple. Well, I expect the boy will work quickly regardless, but it won't be instantaneous. I don't hand out high-ranking positions to those who don't put forth the effort to earn them."

"I thought not. I don't mind, as long as something gets done," Marco said. "It was killing me to sit around and do nothing."

* * *

><p>When Marco left the room, his heart felt considerably lighter. There was a plan in motion to protect his family, and though it would have to remain a secret for a time (those less familiar with Ace might be pissed that they weren't first in line for the position, given their obvious seniority), it was meritorious. There was also the small matter that Ace wasn't officially on the crew yet. A minor setback. Despite his plans for the young man, if asked any questions, Marco was determined to answer honestly and as without-bias as he was capable of being. It was an important decision that Ace should only make if he was absolutely certain, and that surety had to come from his own experiences and not the opinions of someone else. Marco genuinely believed that that was the only way to live life happily. Truly, though, he didn't think he had anything to worry about. Ace already was a good friend to many of them, and he was pretty sure he actually liked them and enjoyed spending time with the crew. He already considered Ace a brother, whether he joined the crew or not. He'd be surprised if Thatch didn't feel the same way. Ace clearly liked them, they clearly liked Ace… things would come together on their own, he was sure of it.<p>

He'd wound his way through the halls to the infirmary. Before being quite a hallway away, he could already hear Ace's belligerent voice. Nice to know his lungs had healed well, at least.

"I'm telling you, I'm fine! It's not like I'm going to go run a goddamn marathon as soon as I leave here, so what's the big fuckin' deal?" he was saying. Well, shouting, almost.

"Listen, buttwipe, who is the one with the medical degree here, you or me? If I say you need to keep your ass in a bed for two weeks, I mean _two whole fucking weeks_, whether you have Restless Leg Syndrome or not," said Selma's voice.

"But that was when you thought the Sea Stone was going to dick with the recuperation process, right? I heard you say it! Well, _clearly_, it hasn't done that, and I feel just fine, and if I don't see the sky soon, I'm going to bloody well-"

"What? Stamp your little feet? Go on! Tell me what you're going to do! Run and tell Mommy the big, bad, lady who saved your life is being mean to you? _Clearly_, you must have a concussion I somehow missed. Fact is, nobody heals as fast as you claim you did. Even if you did, I don't trust that the fix is a solid one. Your rib bone got damn well shattered! That sort of shit doesn't heal in a week and a half without any weak spots!"

"It does with me!"

"Oh, now that is just _bull_crap is what _that_ is."

"I'll tell you what's bullcra-"

"So, hi," Marco said from the doorway. Both froze, and the tableau they made was an amusing one. Ace was half out of his bed, wearing nothing but some loose sleeping pants Marco had lent him and the stark white of fresh bandages wrapped around his torso. Pushing him back down with a clipboard was Selma, who was rapidly turning red as she realised what it must look like from Marco's point of view.

"Don't worry; I heard the yelling, so this isn't half as awkward as it could be," Marco chuckled.

"Still pretty awkward, though," Thatch said behind him. Marco turned to see the man sliding past him with a mug in hand of something steaming. "Brought it," he said to Selma.

"Thanks, Taichou. Now, Ace, are you going to stop being contrary and childish long enough to drink your damn tea?"

"I don't want the damn tea! No offense, Thatch."

"None taken."

"If you're not going to drink it, I'm sure I can find a funnel here somewhere."

"I'm quite sure you won't. I've hidden all of them. I learned my lesson last time! And as you can see, I'm perfectly fine getting up and walking around, so there." He stuck out his tongue smugly. Marco started wondering just what the hell he'd been thinking when he recommended Ace for Second Division Commander.

"I've got an idea," Thatch said suddenly.

"By all means," Selma said. "I've despaired of him."

"You say your lungs are up to speed again? Well, prove it. If you can prove you've got good breath control without any complications, we'll accept your claims and let you wander about. If you screw up, though, you'll have to park your ass and do whatever Selma tells you to."

"That might work," Selma mused.

"Well, that's all well and fine, but how exactly do you expect me to test-" Ace stopped. "Wait. No. Absolutely not."

"Oh, don't be such a prissy little girl."

"I'm not! I just completely refuse to humiliate myself. I can't do it well when I'm perfectly healthy, for God's sake!"

"I feel I've missed something," Marco said.

"He wants me to sing," Ace muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Just up to the first chorus or two. I'm not asking you to belt a damn aria," Thatch said.

"Better not be."

"Oh, come on, Ace. Don't be so stingy. I've heard you sing before and you aren't half bad. Unless you're not as healed up as you've been saying and are just trying to cover your own ass now?"

"No…" Ace sighed. "Fine. But just this once! And I'm not doing the whole thing."

He breathed deeply, let it out, and began in a low key, eyes closed in concentration.

"_Near Banbridge Town in the County Down_

_One mornin' in July_

_Down a boreen green came a sweet colleen_

_And she smiled as she passed me by_

_She looked so neat from her two bare feet_

_To the sheen of her nut-brown hair_

_Such a coaxing elf, I'd to shake meself_

_To make sure I was standing there._

_From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay_

_And from Galway to Dublin Town_

_No maid I've seen like the fair colleen_

_That I met in the County Down._

_As she onward sped and I shook my head_

_And I gazed with a feelin' queer_

_And I say, says I, to a passerby_

'_Who's the maid with the nut-brown hair?'_

_He smiled and me and with pride says he,_

'_She's the gem of the kingdom's crown,_

_She's Rosie McCann from the banks of the Bann_

_And the star of the County Down.'_

_From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay_

_And from Galway to Dublin town_

_No maid I've seen like the fair colleen_

_That I met in the County Down."_

The last rippling notes hung in the air like a thing alive, and only silence followed. Ace slowly opened his eyes to find that a small crowd of ten or twelve people had gathered just outside the infirmary door. At realising that he'd finished, whistles and applause resounded.

"Who the hell told you you couldn't sing?" breathed Selma.

"No shit," Thatch said. "If I'd known you could do that, I'd have conned you into this months ago."

Ace face was burning – for once, not in the literal sense, although he thought he did see some steam. He fiddled with his fingers and looked down at the praise. "Th-thanks."

"So, is this satisfactory proof of wellness, Doctor Selma?" asked Marco.

"Sure," she said. "Go nuts, I suppose. But I still want you to come back to me every three or four hours for a checkup until I say otherwise, and you're sleeping here for the rest of the week, is that clear?"

"Okay!" Ace said, brightening. "So, where'd my shirt end up?"

Thatch just walked over and draped an arm around the younger man's shoulders. "Don't worry; I'll lend you something. Yours got kind of shot. And bloody. And cut up, because of the surgery. Sorry 'bout that. But all that aside, you're coming with me. You've got to teach us all that song."

Marco just chuckled and followed behind. He already knew the song and would sing it along with Ace if it made him feel better. Tonight felt like it was going to be a good night.

* * *

><p>(AN): I came so close. SO FUCKING CLOSE. When Marco said something about counting his chickens before they hatched… THIS CLOSE. The joke would have been _perfect_, but no. It was a serious scene. It would have ruined everything. So sad. I have an incredible arsenal of horrible bird jokes I could use for Marco, but he's so damn serious, I usually have to use Thatch or my various OCs to get them voiced. I just couldn't bring myself to break his character. Or Whitebeard's. Dammit. Well, as a writer, those are the sacrifices you have to make.


	8. Day 99

Read the bottom stuff. Anything important I have to say usually ends up down there.

Day 99

Selma and Joshua had both shit bricks the size of the Navy Headquarters to find that Ace had recovered so quickly. They could only chalk it up to his Devil Fruit powers and leave it at that, even though they were loathe to leave a mystery unsolved. Regardless, two weeks and a few days had gone by since Ace's lung had been aired out and he felt just fine. Well, physically, that is.

Thatch was the first to notice how quiet Ace had been the last two weeks, especially after the doctors had pronounced him fit to do what he pleased. At first, he'd attributed it to the whole part where Ace's lung had deflated and perhaps Ace wasn't talking just because it hurt. But then, he seemed even quieter after he'd been released from the infirmary, and when asked, he always responded that he felt perfectly fine and that speech wasn't an issue. Thatch had wondered if maybe he was mad at them for some reason. Maybe he blamed them because he had been shot for being a part a Whitebeard's crew when he wasn't even one of them? Maybe he thought _they_ should have been the victim and not him. When he spoke to Marco about it, though, the blond had smacked him upside the head and told him it was just his survivor's guilt talking and that Ace couldn't hate someone for something as ridiculous as that, not to mention that it might reflect poorly on Thatch's opinion of Ace. No-one believed Ace was that selfish a person, after all.

It still raised the question of why he was being so withdrawn. Marco had his sneaking suspicions that he knew why, but he wouldn't tell Thatch or the others, even when they pestered him endlessly about it.

"Maaaaaaarcooooooo," Thatch whined, "I just wanna help him, is all! Won't you pleeeeeeeeeeease tell me what's wrong with him? I won't ask you for another favour for a year and a day, promise!"

"First off, that's bullshit and we both know it. The not asking for favours part, not the part where you just want to help Ace – _that_, at least, I _know_ is genuine. And second off, if I'm right, Ace is just trying to figure something out, and it's something he needs to figure out for himself. If we just leave it be, he should be fine. If he comes to you for help, you're free to give it, but otherwise, just don't bug him. Although I can't see how you'd make the time, seeing as you're always annoying the piss out of me, you can't possibly have time for any other pursuits," Marco drawled.

"You'd be surprised," Thatch said.

"Don't."

"Fine! I won't badger Ace unless he wants me to. Fair?"

"Fair. As long as you follow through."

"Your lack of faith disturbs me."

"It disturbs _me_ that you're so easy to lose faith in."

"Ouch. That's not gonna grow back."

There was laughter all around the table from people who had been unobtrusively listening in to add insult to injury. Marco pushed himself up from the table.

"Hey, Oyaji. I'm going to crash early tonight. See you tomorrow?"

At the head of the table, Whitebeard looked up from his conversation. "Good night, Marco. Sleep well."

The night was early yet, and Marco actually had no intention of going to bed. Instead, he wandered around to behind the Captain's cabin, where Ace had been spending his nights for the last few months.

Ace was sitting on the deck floor beside a barrel, not quite out of earshot of the celebratory (but meaningless) hubbub of the crew. His legs were bent up towards his body and his arms were resting on his knees. His head was bent low, and Marco couldn't tell if this was one of the boy's contemplative or depressed spells. Often, you never knew which it was until you spoke to him.

"Hey, Ace. I got you a thing of sake. Want it?"

Ace didn't respond for a few seconds, and when he did, Marco still wasn't entirely sure the kid had even listened to a word he said.

"Marco, can I ask you something?" His voice was hesitant and quiet.

"Sure. I'm not guaranteeing an answer you'll like, or even really an answer, but all questions are worth asking." He sat down next to Ace and put the tankard in his hand down on the floor between them.

"Why…. Why do you call Whitebeard 'Oyaji'?"

Marco tried not to look surprised. "Well, we call him that because he calls us his sons. We're outcasts, most of us, and to be accepted and loved like that… It makes us happy, to put it lightly. The least we can do is return the favour," Marco said. When he looked over, he saw tears in Ace's eyes, but pretended they weren't there for the sake of the boy's pride.

"I… I can't just – I don't… But I… Marco, _help_," he whispered.

"Just talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."

Ace buried his face in his arms, but kept talking. "You already know about Luffy, but I didn't tell you about my brother Sabo. Sabo and I 're the same age, just about, but he… He died when we were 11 and Luffy was 8. Before that, though… All three of us made a promise, because we all wanted to be pirates and we never wanted to get separated – we made a promise to set sail one day and become great kings of pirates. I always told them that to be Pirate King was to be the person with the most freedom in this world, and freedom was the one thing not one of us ever really had. The only kind we thought we had was with each other, so… we couldn't help but want more of it. No more cages, whether they're made of gold like with Sabo, or the iron shackles of the Marines and family with me 'n' Luffy. Well… Sabo died in his cage. He never got to be free. It was just one of those things you say when you're a kid up until that point. When he died, it became something real, because not only can you not break a promise to family… You never _ever_ break a promise to a dead person. If I bent and abandoned the whole thing, no matter how crazy it sounded, it would still feel like I was abandoning Sabo… Like I didn't somehow value the freedom he died trying to get.

"But I…. I really…. I really want to-" Ace shrunk into himself even more, the words devolving into garbled gibberish.

Marco had no idea. Ace was stubborn as a goddamn mule and then some, and he had just assumed that that was the sole cause of his unreasonable and unrealistic persistence in pursuing his goals and trying to defeat Whitebeard. He had misjudged him, and he felt horrible about it. How many times had people told the kid to just give up; that it wasn't worth his time or effort? How many times had he believed it, but not been able to give up because a promise to someone he loved chained him down?

Marco thought carefully about how to phrase it. This might be the most important conversation he ever had with Ace. "You're following up on your promise right now… but it doesn't sound like you're too free to me."

"I'm not," Ace said in a hoarse whisper. "What the hell do I do?"

"Whenever I find that some law or rule or promise or whatever is holding me back, I usually examine the intentions or motives behind it. Why did your brothers want you to be free?"

"Freedom made us happy."

"So they don't want you to be free, necessarily – they just want you to be happy, because they love you, and that's what family does. So in this case, I think's it's best to ask yourself what would make you happy right now? I can pretty much guarantee that if your brothers love you, they won't care about some promise you made when you were little, so long as you are happy and still love them back."

"You think?"

"I know. I haven't heard much about Sabo, but if he's anything like you 'n' Luffy, I'm damn sure he's a decent enough fellow to grant you reprieve this once."

"…Do you think it's too late to talk to him?"

Marco smiled. "That's one of the great things about Oyaji. If he's family, he loves you enough to forgive you just about anything. I don't think you've got anything to worry about."

"But I'm… I've done a lot of shitty, under-handed crap."

"If we all like you despite that, what the hell makes you think Oyaji doesn't? He wouldn't offer to make you his son if he didn't mean it," Marco said.

"This is going to be so awkward," Ace groaned.

"Take my advice: wait 'til tomorrow. Think it over. Ask him tomorrow, around lunch or so, if you still want to go through with it. And trust me, whatever part you're thinking is going to be awkward will be nothing in comparison to 'The Talk' he's gonna give you later."

"'The Talk'?"

"You don't want to know. You'll figure it out soon enough," Marco said cryptically.

"You scare me some days."

"What else are friends for? Just ask Thatch; he'll back me up."

* * *

><p>Thatch looked up from the plate of food he was vacuuming up into his black hole of a stomach when he saw Marco sit down next to him in his peripheral vision.<p>

"Hm? What's up, Marco? I thought you were heading to bed early?" he asked.

"It's called lying. Surely you've heard of it. Anyway, I just had a talk with Ace."

"Really? Is he okay? He'd been kind of…" He wiggled a flattened hand in mid-air to illustrate his point, "… for the last couple of days."

"Yeah, I know. Well, he just needed to sit down and talk with somebody," Marco said.

"What about?"

"That's the interesting part. He told me why he's been doing all this for so long."

Thatch's eyes widened. "Wait, there's a specific reason? I just though it was Ace being… y'know, _Ace_."

"That's what I thought, too," Marco said. "Turns out I was wrong."

"Well, what's the reason?" Thatch asked.

"He made a promise to his brother."

"Luffy?"

"Nope. Other brother."

"Shit! How many of them _are_ there running amok? The world was scary enough with just the two."

"Still just the one. This brother died a while back."

"Oh," Thatch muttered, sobered. "Shit. God, that's…"

"Yeah, I know. But you see why he couldn't just chuck that kind of promise out the door so easily."

"Yeah; no shit. So why was he all… the way he was… this past week if he just needed to talk about that?"

Marco allowed himself a little smile. "He's been thinking about a way around that promise."

Thatch looked Marco hard in the eye, a tiny bit of excitement blooming in him. "Wait, you don't mean…" Marco nodded, his smile growing. Before long, both were grinning like loons. "He's _not_."

"He is."

Thatch shuddered with joy. "Yes, yes yes yes yes yes YES! Finally! You talked him into it?"

"Not really. I sorta helped him talk himself into it."

Thatch gave a fangirl-ish scream that had fellow crew-mates staring at him oddly. "Marco, I fucking love you! I just wanna kiss you right now."

"Please don't."

"Prude!"

"Naw, but seriously, he's going to keep thinking about it tonight and he's going to ask tomorrow."

"I'm making cake," Thatch decided instantly. "I'm making a whole goddamn feast. There's this recipe for banana rum pudding that I've been dying to try because to finish it off, you're supposed to light the rum on fire and it's fucking perfect for Ace. I'm making this shit, no question. But you have to help me do the test run, because if the recipe's no good, there's no way I'm going to serve it tomorrow."

"Fine, fine," Marco said, just letting it all happen. After all, he was getting a new brother tomorrow. Surely it was worth a little suffering.

* * *

><p>(AN): Been spending all my time either over a stove or with family. I love Thanksgiving. I have been getting no school work done, but I have no regrets. Anyway, that's why this chapter took longer. That, and my internet keeps shorting out on me.

FUN FACT: Luffy's name is probably related to the sailing term 'luff', which is what it's called when your sail isn't turned exactly perpendicular to the wind, so it mostly slides off and you don't really get anywhere. To me, that means "askew to the degree of ineffectiveness". Sounds enough like Luffy to me. Dear Lord, the boy's certainly not wired quite right. But anyway, that's why translators know it's Luffy and not Ruffy.


	9. BONUS: Letter to Luffy for his Birthday

_Dear Luffy,_

_Listen, asshole: this is for your birthday. That means NO OPENING UNTIL MAY 5__th__. If you're still reading this, CLOSE THE GODDAMN LETTER AND STEP AWAY FROM THE PACKAGE. Unless it is already your birthday. Then you can totally do whatever the hell you want._

_WHY THE HELL ARE YOU STILL READING THIS WHEN IT'S NOT YOUR BIRTHDAY?_

_Okay. I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume that it is NOW your birthday. I know you can't follow directions worth shit, but here's hoping. Just so you know, it's going to completely ruin the surprise if you read this before opening your present. Just thought you should know. It seems like the kind of thing you'd be concerned about._

_Things have been… well, less than smooth. I mean, the first several months went fantastically well. I even got to sit down and talk with Shanks. The guy is cool. I see why you like him. He's doing damn well for himself, left arm or no. I'm not going to spoil the surprise on THAT front any more than I already have. After that, though… well, I hit sort of a snag._

_Don't worry, though! I'm still going strong! There's no way in hell I'd just give up; you know me. This guy's really strong, but I'll get what I'm after in the end. His crew is letting me stay with them and they're actually kind of cool. All things considered, it could be way worse.  
><em>

_On to the subject at hand. Holy shit, you're old! Fifteen is getting damn near creaky. It won't be too long before you're setting out yourself. It's kind of creeping me out as I'm writing this. I don't want my midget of a brother getting older! I like being able to lord my extra years and height over you, and if you get another goddamn growth spurt I'm going to be short in comparison, and if that happened, I'd want to cut somebody. Still, being alive for all that time is a hell of an accomplishment, so happy birthday! I got you something in a port town I visited recently. I know you have this freakish fascination with red shirts, but knowing your talent for getting into fights, I expect you'll need a new one some time in the near future. So, I picked you up this little jacket thing. Somebody on the ship told me it was called a cardigan, but if you ask me, that's a pansy-ass name. It's a jacket. I'm leaving it at that. I don't know why I'm feeding your red fetish, but there you are. It's not much, but when I saw it, I thought of you right away, and, well… There's not much out here I think you'd like. Except the food. Shame I can't send it via mail. Mail takes for-fucking-ever to get out of the Grand Line, so if I sent you something edible, it would be damn near radioactive by the time you got it. Well, in a few years, you'll be able to feast on it yourself. Maybe we can sit down to a mile-long table where you can't see the wood for all the plates someday. I don't think we'd ever leave, do you?_

_But I guess I should tell you about some of the guys I met aboard the ship I'm currently… Well, I guess I'm sort of a freeloader. Anyway, these guys ended up my sort-of kind-of friends._

_There's Marco, first off. He's blond and starting to go a little bald, but I'm told you should never mention it to him unless you want to lose a body part. They were non-specific as to which. He's got powers like you, and can transform into a phoenix – er, he's a fiery bird that can't be killed. It's pretty fucking awesome. Anyway, he's straight-laced and only occasionally sarcastic, and while I would normally think that sounds boring, he's got to be one of the best-natured guys around. He takes me seriously when so few do these days. He liked me first, I think. I was nothing but a complete ass to him and he still did some nice stuff for me. Next to you, he's right up there on the list of guys with the patience of saints, which isn't to say he's not a hardass when he needs to be._

_Then there's Thatch. Oh, Thatch. How does one describe Thatch? He's damn tall. Red hair that makes him even taller. That's right; he's a ginger. He doesn't have any powers, but then again, the man doesn't need them. He's nice in the way that you are: it's like he doesn't understand how not to be nice. It makes no sense to him how that is physically possible. He also makes jokes about EVERYTHING. You think you're having a serious conversation, and then – BAM! – he'll make a bad pun or a sex joke and the whole thing is just shot to hell. In that, he's sort of like Marco's opposite. I have trouble telling whether they get along well or not. They can carry a conversation, and often do, but it usually involves threats of bodily harm. And Thatch seems to like practical jokes. Especially when he gets to pull them on Marco. I try to be out of range when they break out in a fight, but it doesn't always work out that way. Thank God flames and knives can't hurt me in the slightest._

_I do occasionally get hurt, just because I'm a huge dumbass. The medics on this ship are pretty okay. There's a girl and a guy, and I think the guy's name is Josh or something, but yeah. They patch me up when I'm fucked up. They also hand me meds if I drink or eat too much. Or they'll resuscitate me if I manage to fall asleep in my food and suffocate. That happens a little too often for my liking. I ran out of my narcolepsy medication and now, shit like this keeps happening. Well, I haven't died yet. There's a plus._

_I want to hear how you've been doing, but since I'm on a ship, getting mail to me should be really difficult. I'm also told that if you accept mail at a particular address, it means you're living there semi-permanently, at least, and I definitely am NOT planning on staying here overly long. Soon as I get what I came for, I'm out of here. So, much as I want to hear from you, sending mail back to me might not be the best of ideas. I might never get it, you see. When I settle down properly, I'll send you the address, and then you can drown me in a sea of misspelt letters about the most trivial of shit, I don't care. I'd love to hear from you and you know it._

_Oh, yeah. I forgot to mention. I didn't get sick this spring! You know how normally, when the season changes, my allergies flare up and I cough so much I lose my voice? Well, I don't have that problem at sea! I was so excited, like, you have no idea. Allergies are probably the worst thing in the whole damn world, right next to people who talk in theatre and getting an embarrassing itch as soon as you're in the company of someone important._

_I'm rambling now, I confess, but I honestly am out of ideas for what to say. I guess say hi to Dadan and Sabo for me. If you hate your gift, just stuff it somewhere; I promise not to be offended in the least. People keep telling me I can't colour-coordinate, so I keep having to show them all the fucks I don't give._

_I really hope you're doing well and that you aren't completely ignoring your studies, or at least I would were that hope not entirely in vain. Seriously, it does come in handy out here. Except for calculus. You never need calculus. You have my full permission to spit on calculus and curse its birth. But all that science-y shit? Yeah, you might need that. Basic math? That, too. When you get out here, I want you to be prepared like nobody's business, are we clear? Learn from my mistakes. It's better than making them yourself._

_I'll see you… when I see you, I guess? Send me word, if you can, when you're out in my neck of the woods. Okay?_

_I love you more than the sun, the moon, the earth, the sky, and the stars._

_Sincerely,_

_Ace_

* * *

><p>(AN): YOU THOUGHT YOU KNEW WHAT WAS NEXT. YOU WERE WRONG.

Haha, but yeah. I still have much homework to complete, hence the shorter-than-usual chapter. I'll have something up that's a proper length soon.

This doesn't really count as a chapter. I might end up deleting it later unless general opinion asks me to do otherwise.


	10. Day 33

Funny how whenever I tell people I don't update often, I update almost every day – occasionally multiple times a day. IRONY. ALSO KNOWN AS LYING WITHOUT KNOWING IT. It's like my brain purposely contrives to make me wrong. But seriously, though, this upcoming week is going to be hectic and I'm almost out of plot bunnies, so updates might be scarce soon. I figured I best unload while the inspiration is there and so is the time in which to express it.

Chapter tennnnnnnnnnnn! Yay! DOUBLE DIGITS MUTHAFUCKA.

Day 33

The sky was clear and beautiful, and the wind sang something sweet just out of earshot. Ace hadn't realised just how much he missed the rustling of tree limbs and leaves with every breath of wind that passed, but hearing it after so long was like being born again.

The Whitebeard pirates had docked in a port town on the seedy end of an island. The island had some distinctly upscale businesses on the other side, to which Marco would be going to pick up general supplies for the Moby Dick, but Whitebeard understood that large pirate ships in respectable ports were less-than-welcome, even if the business they brought was. Marco would take a small boat back to the flagship with the supplies when he got them all.

Ace was a little aghast when he heard Norma and the tall, redheaded Hannah (as opposed to the short brunette Hannah and the tall blonde Hannah) sighing about how it was going to take Marco an entire week to get back to them with the supplies.

"Wait, you mean it takes that long to cross one bloody island?" he asked.

"Oh, of course not," Norma said with a dismissive wave of a hand. "Marco just flies over. What takes forever is getting all the crap loaded and then getting back home. The waters around these parts are unpredictable, so setting out without knowing the exact weather patterns and how to avoid them is tricky business. Marco's really good at it, so it only takes him a week. He's also pretty much the only one besides Oyaji who can go into town and avoid being cheated out of every beri by merchants. If we sent someone like Thatch or the guys, they'd lose both the money and their way. We'd never get them back."

"I guess that's true…" Ace muttered. The Grand Line was usually pretty slow with mail as it was, especially with packages. If the New World was even slower… It might take more than a month to get somewhere. For example, East Blue. Ace bit his lip. Luffy's 15th birthday was in about two months or so. How in the hell was he going to get a present to him on time? Well, they _were_ in port. He may as well take advantage of the opportunity.

Ace actually buttoned up his shirt for once (mostly to cover the healing bruises) and made sure he had all his money with him. It wasn't much, but it would have to do. All he could hope for was that there might be something in town Luffy would like.

* * *

><p>Marco saw Ace leave the ship. At first, he almost panicked, thinking Ace had finally given up and wasn't coming back. But no, Ace's makeshift hammock and most of his things were still on board, so he had every intention of returning.<p>

Now, Marco liked his days off from work as much as the next guy, but he had been to this port – hell, he'd been all over that damn island – and was bored witless with it. And so, instead of sleeping all day before undergoing a week-long haggle session, he decided to do something fun. He could only hope that Ace wouldn't realise he had a stalker for the day.

* * *

><p>Ace wished he'd gotten friendlier with some of the girls on board the Moby Dick. Girls always seemed to know what to get people for presents. They were better at coming up with thoughtful gifts. Ace was shit at it. The more he thought about it, though, the more he wondered just who the hell he would ask to help him, even if he were friends with the women around him.<p>

Black-haired, tanned, wild Miranda would probably take over everything and would never listen to his input, never mind that she'd never met Luffy and probably never would.

Blonde-haired, blue-eyed, icy Selma would demand to know every detail about Luffy so as to have a good idea of what to look for, but she would ask so much, they'd never get around to shopping.

Auburn-haired, autumnal-coloured Norma might be a good choice if she weren't so sarcastic all the damn time. Ace couldn't help a natural aversion to her.

Tall, red-headed Hannah would forget they were shopping for a boy and would pick out girly shit.

Tall, blonde Hannah would forget they were shopping for anyone who wasn't her and would pick out stuff for herself.

Short, brunette, almost elfish Hannah would fidget constantly and get scared every time she found something, terrified Luffy wouldn't like it, but she'd be too shy to ask what sort of things Luffy _did_ like.

Ace sighed. Maybe the crazy bitches on Whitebeard's crew were best left to their own devices.

Oh, shit! They had baked potatoes over there! Hell to the yes. Ace scurried over to the roadside stand and bought five. He thought he was scaling it back, personally. The Grand Line might not be the safest of places to be, but hell if they didn't know their starches inside and out. And protein. He ate two immediately and stuffed the other three in an overly baggy pocket for later.

There were all manner of vendors lining the streets, presumably because this part of town attracted any number of pirates, and among their own kind, pirates were less likely to steal. They kept more of their fingers that way.

His eyes caught a bright flare of red off to his right. Now, if he knew Luffy, he knew the boy was almost as colour-blind as Ace was. The one colour he liked best, though, was the kind of red that matched the band of fabric around that damn straw hat of his. He didn't have the hat in hand, so he couldn't compare, but he was willing to bet that any kind of intense red like that would be coming close. Upon closer inspection, the red thing turned out to be a jacket of some kind with three-quarter sleeves that flared out. It didn't look like there was any way to fasten it in the front, but with the way Luffy expanded his chest and gut like a balloon, Ace was willing to bet that he wasn't going to want something that fastened properly, anyway. He'd probably be most comfortable going around with an open shirt and cargo shorts like Ace did. Maybe denim for those. The thought of Luffy in slacks was a nice one, but completely unrealistic. If Luffy ever wore dress clothes, the world would be due to end in a few hours.

"So, you like that one?" the middle-aged woman who owned the stand said. "You better have 4000 beri if you're going to keep rubbing your grubby mitts all over it."

"4000? You must be joking," Ace said.

"If you don't want it, don't buy it."

Ace peered at the numbers on the piece of paper attached to the back. "The tag says it's 2500."

"My idiot husband labeled these. Just because it says it's something doesn't mean that's how much it is."

Ace raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I think that's exactly what price was before this morning."

"Pardon?" Her eyes were sharp now.

"The Whitebeard pirates, famous and wealthy, happen upon your docks and suddenly your prices are 1500 higher? Don't mistake me for an idiot. I'm not some country bumpkin who can be fooled out of all I own." She spluttered. "And for another thing, there's a tear in the back. See here? Now, I would be willing to fix that myself, but you can't possibly expect me to pay full price for damaged goods. You'll sell it to me for 2000 and throw in that bead necklace for half-price for what offense I may or may not have taken by your dishonesty. Deal?"

Marco, hiding behind a fruit stand not too far away, gaped. Ace was freaking awesome at haggling. Marco usually had to charm his way into getting good deals, but occasionally there were those who couldn't be charmed. Bullying often involved some kind of threat, but Marco hadn't heard one from Ace. It looked like he didn't need to make them. For all his almost-threatening words, his tone was perfectly reasonable. It showed how much he had affected the vendor as she took his offer, happy just to be rid of him.

Ace grinned as he put the folded jacket in his other pocket and fastened the red bead necklace around his throat. He had expected to have to bitch a little more for her to bend, but maybe not. Maybe they were all pushovers in this part of town. Maybe they just weren't used to people who could actually locate their hindquarters without the use of both hands.

A small crying noise reached his ears and his smile faded.

Ace peered up and down the street, unsure exactly where it was coming from beyond the vague direction of 'off to the left somewhere'. He poked his head into a side alley. "Hello?" he called.

He saw a shadow flinch and duck behind a rubbish bin.

"Hey, who are you?" he asked softly. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," a tiny voice replied. "Oh, wait. Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh what? What's wrong?" he asked. Ace's eyes started to adjust to the darkness and he could see the figure was a little boy, probably no older than seven, maybe six.

"Momma says I'm not supposed to talk to pirates. You're a pirate, right?"

"Well, yeah," Ace admitted. "But I bet your mum hasn't met all the pirates in the world, so how can she possibly just go and say that all of them are bad? Where's your mum now?"

The little boy looked at his feet. "I dunno. Got lost."

"Well, where did you last see her? You can't live around here if you got lost. C'mon, kid, I'll help you out."

"Really?" The boy looked up, looking as though he were about to cry. "The ship leaves soon and I don't wanna get left behind!"

"Don't worry about it," Ace said warmly. "Your mum is probably worried about you right now." He extended a hand and the boy took it hesitantly. "It's going to get dark in an hour or so, so I expect we best be off the streets by then. Hey, you want a baked potato? I got an extra."

The boy nodded and Ace fished around in both his pockets, since he didn't remember which he'd put them in. He raised it up triumphantly. "Ah, but it's gotten kinda lukewarm. Gimme a sec," he said, and with that, held it over a burning palm to warm it up. The boy's eyes widened to the point where they were almost completely round. "Here," Ace said. "I don't think it's hot enough to burn your tongue, but be careful about it just the same."

Marco was downright surprised. He had only seen Ace in a few lights, and this… this softness, this gentleness – it wasn't one of them. Ace was always loud, brash, in-your-face, adventurous, stubborn, and curious about anything and everything. He wasn't normally sweet, soft, or a concerned, almost parental figure.

That was it. The Whitebeard pirates had an Oyaji, a Dad. Now they had an Ofukuro, a Mom. When he got back from his trip, he was going to make sure Ace had a new nickname along those lines if it killed him. Thatch would undoubtedly latch on to it right away, but getting the others involved might be difficult. Marco wasn't much one for teasing, but with Ace, who could resist? It was too easy.

* * *

><p>It turned out the boy's mother had been waiting by the docks in front of the passenger ship they'd been on, and as soon as she saw her son, she scooped him up and thanked Ace profusely. He had coloured instantly and muttered something about how it was no trouble and wished in his head that the women aboard the Moby Dick could be as reasonable as that.<p>

He tried to board his own ship without being seen, and to some degree, succeeded. Norma caught him at one point, and but for Thatch, things might have gotten awkward.

"Where did you pick up that necklace?" she asked as she passed him in the hall.

"Er, this? I just… had it with my stuff."

"Really? It looks new," she said, leaning forward to look. Norma was Queen of all things rare and valuable, especially jewellery. She didn't often take to beads, though, and he suspected they might be made out of something she recognised if she was interested.

"COMING THROUGH!" Thatch called, squeezing in between the two of them in the already-cramped hallway, holding a metal pan high above his head to avoid bumping them.

They sprang apart to attempt to let him pass and stared for a few seconds after his departure.

Norma spoke first. "Were those jello moulds?"

"I think so."

"…Let's never speak of this again."

"Agreed."

* * *

><p>(AN): I LOOOOOOOOOOOVE MY REVIEWERS. YOU GUYS ARE THE BEE'S KNEES, AND YOU KNOW I WOULDN'T LIE ABOUT SOMETHING THAT SERIOUS.


	11. Day 44

EDIT: This is really fucking weird. I tell ffnet to post doc "100 Days 11" and it posts some other one. FFNET, WHY ARE YOU RETARDEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED? I've tried submitting it about three or four times now and I AM FILLED WITH THE RAGE.

We're back and I finished all my work for my 110 class. Now I only have to work on 122 and 104 and my work will be done… until they slam me with other shit, like I know they will. Christmas break, Y U no here yet?

Day 44

Ace wasn't sure what it was at first. There was giggling. He didn't like giggling. Laughter was good. Chortles and snorts and guffaws and pretty much every other kind of laughing was a-okay, but giggling was just fucking creepy, especially when grown men were doing it.

For another thing, they kept giggling around him and him alone. He hated it, and whenever he heard someone doing it, he'd glare them into silence. He'd tried asking what the hell was so funny once, but only succeeded in making them laugh harder.

Then someone had let it slip.

He should have expected it to come out of Norm, twin brother of the sarcastic bitch to end sarcastic bitches, Norma. He'd made the mistake one day of asking whether or not Norm was going to eat his vegetables. Just the once. One little, very simple question.

"Why would I eat those? They taste nasty," Norm said.

"They're good for you and they don't taste so bad when you drown them in condiments," Ace said. "And food should never go to waste."

"Fine, fine! There's no need to nag, Ofukuro."

Norm got up and walked away to obtain some ranch dressing with a cloud on his face, but Ace had sat there, completely flabbergasted.

"What did he just… Did he just…? Ofuku- doesn't that mean-? What the fuck?" Ace eventually managed to say.

Thatch coughed into his napkin delicately. "I wouldn't question it right now. It was probably nothing." His own muffled chuckles did not go unnoticed, and he got steak sauce smeared on his face for it.

It wasn't nothing. It kept happening. That word would show up frequently, just dropped as a small aside, or uttered almost unthinkingly.

"Can you help me carry this, Ofukuro?"

"Hey, Ofukuro, is this skirt too short on me?"

"Do you want some more of that, Ofukuro?"

"Careful, if you don't brush your teeth before bed, Ofukuro's gonna get mad at you!"

"Tuck in your shirt! Don't look like a schlub in front of Ofukuro!"

It freaked Ace out. People were referring to him as their mother even when talking amongst themselves. It was almost like the nickname was common knowledge. What the hell could have prompted it?

Okay, so he had told Miranda to stop dressing like a slut with her skirt so short you could tell the colour of her panties, but really, that was completely justified. No-one should go around like that if they considered themselves above the level of a prostitute.

Okay, so maaaaaybe he had once given Marco a half-hour-long lecture on exactly why you should brush your teeth twice a day and no, just brushing in the morning is not good enough. That wasn't even supposed to be public, for God's sake! He hadn't thought Marco the type to gossip.

So what if he liked washing his clothes frequently? The heat that naturally radiated from his skin usually made him sweat, and sweaty clothes need to be washed very regularly. He only had so many clothes in the first place, so he was inclined to take good care of them.

So what if he was good at mending rips and tears in fabric and offered to patch up Thatch's pants that had almost had one leg torn off? He got in fights a lot, so it only made sense that he would be practiced.

It was completely sexist to assume that just because he wanted girls to dress appropriately, nagged people to brush their teeth, washed clothes, and could sew, he was automatically a mother figure. What confused him most of all was that everyone who called him that was older than him by several years.

After three whole days of it, Ace realised something. There was still someone who remembered his name was Ace and not Ofukuro.

Good ol' Patrick O'Flaherty.

Patrick had dark hair and dark eyes and a dark expression and was in general a piss-on-everyone's-parade kind of guy. Perhaps he was often sour of mood because of the crew's ruthless nicknaming of him as "Laddie". He despised his hometown not because of the people in it, but because of the blatant stereotyping he was subjected to in being a native. Once, someone (probably Miranda or Thatch, because they were the worst pranksters of the bunch) had replaced all the man's trousers with kilts. In a fit of rage, Patrick had gone around naked from the waist down for as long as it took to get his trousers returned.

Ace saw him sitting down, chewing the end of a cigar, and went to join him.

"So," he said.

"So," Patrick said. "Not so funny when it happens to you, eh?"

"I don't think it was ever funny," Ace said.

"Nope, sure wasn't. But I expect a little more respect now that you've been reduced to my position."

"I really am sorry, Patrick."

"Me, too, kid."

"So… any hints when it comes to getting them to knock it off?"

Patrick spat out a puff of smoke. "Put on your big-girl panties and get over it?" he said, laughing bitterly. "Once they've branded you, odds are good you're branded for life."

"Bollocks."

"Succinct and accurate."

"And I can't just ask them to shut the hell up or something?" Ace asked.

"Dear Lord, no! That only encourages them. Give them a good reason to stop and maybe they will. No guarantees. Also, what seems a good reason to you might not be to them. They might just laugh in your face. They do that." Patrick looked up, one eyebrow cocked. "Does it bother you as much as all that?"

"It really does."

"Why?"

Ace was dumbfounded for a second. "Uh, well, I'm a guy, and to be called someone's Mum of all things is…"

"Degrading?"

Ace nodded.

"That's it? Someone implies you're a girl and you start crying like one?"

"No!" Ace said. "That's not-! Fuck. Listen, when they say it, they say it to mess with me. They do it specifically for the sport, for the joke – they do it for the reaction! If they actually meant the sentiment behind it, maybe I wouldn't mind as much, but they don't, so that's that."

Patrick started laughing. "So that's it! You don't think they mean it!"

"Well, they don't," Ace grumbled.

"Oh, I'm sure that's true for most of them. This crew is full of arses, let me tell you that. But I'm willing to bet good money that there's a few here 'n' there who mean what they say."

"Like who?"

"I'll tell you when you're ready for kids," Patrick said, getting up and walking away, leaving Ace spluttering nonsense behind him. "In the meantime, I'd ask Oyaji for help, were I you."

* * *

><p>Whitebeard heard a loud knock on his door and an only slightly quieter voice. "Oyaj- motherfucker, now I'm doing it… Whitebeard!"<p>

"Come in, Ace," he said.

The boy's wild head of black hair appeared in his doorway, the door quickly shutting behind him as though he were afraid of being seen. He was blushing so darkly, his freckles stood out like stars against the night sky.

"So, uh, hi," he mumbled.

"Having trouble?"

Ace coughed subtly. "Of a sort. I don't suppose you… Have you heard them…?"

"Have I heard my sons and daughters being daft and assigning familial roles unasked? Indeed, I have."

Ace gave him a nervous grin. "Well, doesn't it bother you?"

"I think it bothers you more than it bothers me," Whitebeard said. The guilty look on Ace's face told him he was right. "Do you want me to get them to stop?" he asked kindly. Ace nodded, eyes glued to the floor.

Whitebeard put a massive hand on Ace's shoulder and smiled. "Not a problem." He abruptly turned and left, leaving Ace to trot along behind him to keep up.

The mess hall was noisy as it always was, and only proceeded to get noisier at their arrival.

"Hey, look, Oyaji and Ofukuro aren't fighting!"

"That's a change from the norm, isn't it?"

"Aww, don't get embarrassed, Ofukuro! You're only among unruly children, after all!"

It didn't escape Whitebeard's notice that Ace's cheeks were letting off steam in a very literal sense at this point.

"EVERYONE!" he bellowed. Silence fell a little slower than he would have liked. "You do realise, don't you, that when you refer to me as the father and to Ace as the mother, that you are implying procreation? Good day," he said, and with that, promptly left. No-one said a word.

"Holy Mother of God and all her wacky nephews," Thatch croaked at last. "Ace, I am so sorry."

"I know," Marco said, face dead white. "I didn't even think of it and I am just… I am so damn sorry, Ace. We'll never do it again."

And no-one ever did.

* * *

><p>(AN): There was too much of Ace/Marco and Ace/Thatch and Ace/crew bonding. We needed some Ace/Whitebeard bonding time, even if it only lasts a scene or so. I'm appalled it took me this long to think of it.

Shorter chapter than usual. Oh, well. I still have lots of work to do, mind, and I never intended to update at all today, so really, it's not like I'm letting anyone down or anything.


	12. Day 55

This is officially the longest story I've ever written, both in number of chapters and in number of words. Whoooooooooo!

For those who might not have picked up on it, I am of the firm opinion that Thatch was the head chef aboard the Moby Dick. Why? Because his shirt is cut exactly like the smocks I see chefs around these parts wear. Besides, who's to say chefs can't cook _and_ fight? Look at Sanji! Feel free to bitch me into oblivion for "misinterpreting canon", but guess what? I DON'T CARE.

Day 55

There was a tension in the air that Ace felt, but couldn't explain. When they were at sea with no island in sight, the crew typically slept as late as they could before being woken by the noises of Ace and Whitebeard going at it again. Or, more like Ace going at it and Whitebeard plucking him out of the air and chucking him somewhere else, as was usually the case. Today, not more than an hour after the break of dawn, every single crew member was up and fully awake, scurrying about the deck, looking for some way to be useful. Everyone was so efficient and their movements so precise and quick that Ace didn't feel comfortable interrupting them with a fight. Maybe he'd wait to have a brawl with the old fart until the afternoon, or some time when everybody was having a meal.

The second week Ace had been on board the ship, Phil from the kitchens and Ludo from the watchmen had told Ace in no uncertain terms that if he expected them to keep feeding his incredible appetite, he would have to work for it. He'd been given a few chores, mostly kitchen-based ones that involved sautéing foods without running the risk of burning down the whole damn ship, but there was the occasional task he'd been assigned on deck if they found themselves short of hands. After all, as captain of the Spade pirates, Ace knew his way around rigging.

"Loosen it a little more!" hollered Miranda from the deck. "It's a low wind we've got coming!"

Ace and Ludo undid every knot they had just finished making without complaint and swung down to the deck to avoid the jarring impact of wind hitting a sail that was perfectly perpendicular.

"Thanks, guys," Miranda said. "I'm pretty sure we're set for good 'nother hour, maybe more. Be ready to haul your asses back here if I say so, okay?"

"Yes ma'am," they both said, and headed belowdeck where they wouldn't be underfoot.

Ace couldn't well stay with his things on deck for that very reason, so he did the first thing that came to mind: he went straight to Marco's room.

"So… what the hell is going on out there? I'm pretty sure we're nowhere near land and it's not like this region's known for being dangerous… Why is everyone in such a rush?" Ace asked.

Marco sat up from where he'd been sprawled out on his bed, engrossed in a book. "You haven't heard yet?"

"Seeing as I'm asking you now, I'm gonna go with no."

Marco grinned. "We're meeting an old friend out here. She has a floating home around these parts and she sent us a message saying she'd be coming around. We were a little further out from the rendezvous point than intended, but it's nothing a little hurrying up won't fix."

"I'm surprised you haven't been abducted to help out," Ace said.

"Don't be. I keep 'accidentally' setting shit on fire, and since our sails are pretty important, they tell me to just kick back and stay out of it."

"Why haven't I thought of that?"

"Don't feel bad. I didn't think of it, either. It was Thatch's idea. Works like a charm, though, I must admit. I haven't done deck duty in years."

Ace smiled and shook his head. "So who is this old friend of yours? I'm assuming she's gotta be somebody the whole crew likes."

"Likes?" Marco asked. "Try loves. Her name's Holli. She is one of the nicest, sweetest, funniest women you're ever going to meet. She's pretty badass, too, I'm not going to lie. She used to be the Commander of the Second Division before she quit."

"She quit? Why?"

"Maternity leave! She got pregnant and had her kid, and then decided that she was going to stay where she was and try and raise a kid! I've got to admit, no-one would make a better mother than her. I'm a little jealous of her little girl. My mother was a monster in high-heels and muumuus." Ace winced in sympathy.

"Wow. Wait, who was the father? I'd assume it would have to be someone on the ship, but…"

Marco was shaking his head. "A fellow by the name of Giles. They were sweet on each other for years. He died before Holli was more than a few weeks along. He had some bad heart problems that we're just hoping didn't get passed down. Anyway, when they first admitted they were dating each other, Oyaji damn near threw a fit. So did the rest of us, really. Well, not me."

"Wait, why?" Ace asked.

"'Cause half the damn crew had a crush on her," Marco said simply. "She'd been telling everyone for years she was a lesbian. Imagine their surprise when it turns out she's bi."

Ace started laughing. "Oh, that's rich!" He sobered a little. "Still, did they at least get a chance to get married before…"

"Yeah. Holli knew what was coming and purposely bumped up the wedding date. They had the ceremony on an Autumn island atop a mountain. It was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen in my life," Marco said, eyes gazing at something years gone by.

"She knew?"

"Oh, that's right," Marco said. "I forgot to tell you. She's a Devil Fruit user, too. She ate the Mirai-Mirai no Mi. She can see the future sometimes."

"Shit, really? What, like, legitimately? You're not just screwing with me?" Ace asked, looking suspicious.

"Not in the least am I screwing with you. She can't see all ends, admittedly, but whenever she's made a prediction out loud, it always comes true. After a while, though, she just stopped making predictions."

"Why?"

Marco sighed. "She never did say. I think she just got tired of running from fate. Maybe she just wanted us to live our lives the normal way, with no knowledge of what's to come. It's pretty heavy on a person to see people's futures and not meddle with them. You might think you're helping someone, but in the end, you just couldn't do enough, or maybe you ended up making it worse. She just got tired of meddling, I think. Got tired of fighting something too big to see. Even if she didn't say anything, you could see it on her face. I never saw her so tired as I did when she was trying to help someone escape a future she saw. She stopped making predictions and started looking like one of the living again. It sure helps her out in battle, though. She can tell what you're going to do before you do it, and because of that, there's almost no attack that can land on her. She's not much of an offensive person, but then, she doesn't need to be. Have I told you just what the Second Division does?" he asked.

"No. I know each Division has its own area of expertise, but…" Ace said.

"Well, the First Division and the Second Division are a lot alike. Both are forward-fighting forces. The difference is that First Division is bigger, stays in one place, and is locally based. Second Division is broken up into very small groups, sometimes just one or two guys, and is spread all over the world. Think of it as the difference between a standing army and guerilla fighters. Both can fight a war, but only one can move very fast. Because of that, Second Division does most of the heavy lifting when it comes to small disputes or issues. They can also function as the eyes and ears of Oyaji, even though that falls more to Haruta and the Twelfth Divison. Well, Holli only got personally involved when we were dealing with internal issues, or when shit got serious. This woman can negotiate better than anyone I've ever seen. You can be ready to rip out a guy's left kidney and piss on his grave, and with a few words from her, you'll be the best of friends with him. She also can make you feel damn stupid sometimes."

"That sounds a little annoying, actually."

"No! She doesn't mean to make you feel stupid. The thing is, though, people do stupid things, and when she speaks, you realise just how stupid those things were. Everything seems clear and reasonable when she says it. It's just the way things are," Marco said.

"So how long until she gets here?" Ace asked. "I feel like I have to meet her now."

"Oh, you definitely have to meet her, but I don't think she's going to get here until… What time is it now?"

Ace fumbled with a timepiece in his pocket. "Er… It's about a quarter after twelve."

"Oh. Yeah, she's not going to be here for another hour or so."

No sooner did he say it than the door to Marco's room was slammed open. Thatch, nothing more than an orange-and-white blur, raced in, grabbing Ace's shoulders and shaking him.

"Ace, I need you!"

"Now, Thatch, while I am flattered, I'm really not-"

"That's not what I meant, asshole!" Thatch said. "Holli's from North Blue! North. Bleeping. Blue! I need to make tourtière before she gets here and the stupid, stupid, _stupid_ oven died! Heeeeeelp meeeee," he whined piteously.

"Yep. Ignore me completely. I'm not offended in the least," Marco muttered.

"Shut it, baldy," Thatch said. Marco spluttered and looked around the room for something with which to stab the other man. "But seriously, Ace, you are my last hope of achieving a consistent temperature for an extended amount of time! Pleeeeeeeeaaaaaase?"

"Isn't that normally a New Years' kind of dish, anyway?" Ace asked.

"It's her favourite," Thatch stage-whispered. "Fuck tradition."

"Okay, okay. I give."

"YAAAAAAAAY!"

* * *

><p>It was almost two in the afternoon and everyone had gathered on deck to greet Holli when she came. Marco, in his own quiet brand of nervousness, had taken to circling the skies in phoenix form, scanning the horizon for any sign of her ship.<p>

At last, the blond man headed back down to the ship, shifting midway down and free-falling the last twenty feet to land with a loud _thunk_. "She's here!" he cried. "I just saw the _Autumn Wind_! Bear north-northwest!"

The entire crew ran to their posts, excited and eager. Ace thought it was a little much for just one woman, but went to assist in any way he could.

The _Autumn Wind_ was a beautiful ship, if it could be called that. It looked more like a tiny, floating island. Or rather, it looked like someone had taken an acre of land and set it to float upon the ocean. Most of it was green and lush, with the exception of the sprawling home and extensive garden behind it. There were no sails and Ace couldn't understand how the ship (or was it really an island after all?) got anywhere it was intended to go. Regardless, it looked like the perfect place to live and make one's home.

A tinny voice rose in the air. "OOOOOOOOOOOI!"

Marco had a massive grin plastered on his face as he leaned over the Moby Dick's railing. "HEEEEEEEEEY! HOLLIIIIIIIIIII!"

Half the crew abandoned their posts and raced to the side of the ship to wave at her like idiots.

"BITCHES, SOMEBODY THROW ME A ROPE!"

Ace choked. After all that Marco had said, he'd been expecting someone with more grace and dignity. Well, he supposed, a sailor was a sailor.

* * *

><p>(AN): Why is it not funny? Because I'm stressed. Deal with it. Yes, it's OC time. She's not any damn Mary-Sue that you're going to want to hurt; she's only here to advance the plot, so don't get too bent out of shape.

I may have to put everything on hold for a while. I thought I was caught up with my university work, but then they tell me I have a 20-minute presentation to write, a Chemistry test, my 2nd draft of my 13-page research paper to write, and let's not forget the Forensics Tournament I'm judging over the weekend and the final project in my Art class which is scheduled to eat up any free time I will have until Christmas-fucking-break. I'm not pleased.

Yes, I'm deviating completely from canon with the specialties of each division. I DO WHAT I WANT, BITCHES!

There are two different characters in this story that are meant to be me. Guess which two and I'll write a chapter based on whatever prompt you give me, no matter how batshit crazy it is. And no cheating, friends of mine! Also, Shiary, I have too many good ideas from you as it is, so I may have to withdraw your name from eligible winners. Sorry. Guess only one of the two and I guess you get a hug? I dunno.


	13. BONUS:  Night 1 NOW WITH 10X THE FLUFF

Y'know when I said I wouldn't be doing updates for a while until I got caught up with all my shit? Well, I'm mostly caught up with my shit. Mostly. Don't expect daily updates, though, until finals are over with.

Night 1

Shanni and Tibbles were very proud to be the professional rat-catchers aboard the most fearsome pirate ship in the Grand Line – no, in the world. Whenever a ship came into port, odds were very good that a rat family or two would think to slip aboard and attempt to get at the food supply, the thieving little bastards. Shanni and Tibbles were there to see that the rat families were either sent packing or sent to their graves. They did their jobs exceptionally well, even though poor Shanni was getting on in years and Tibbles didn't have quite enough to his credit.

What they both loved best of all, though, was their pets. Silly, giant creatures that walked on two legs (how ridiculous!) made sure the ship got where it was going and kept the food stocked, serving their magnanimous feline masters all manner of lovely tidbits and scratching behind their ears whenever it was desired. The ship was always a happy one, and the air was warm and the food was good and the cuddles were wonderful. Neither cat wanted to make their home anywhere else.

There was one thing they wished they could have that they lacked: a warm bed.

In the daytime, the wooden planks that made up the deck soaked up the sun's warmth so deliciously and it was easy to find a lovely spot to curl up in. In the night, though, there was no sun to warm the wood.

What was worse, most of the humans did not want cuddles when they were trying to sleep. Shanni sometimes missed the old days when he could curl up on a human's head and luxuriate in the perfect warmth. Most of the humans on the Moby Dick, however, slept in hammocks, and the added weight of a cat anywhere at all (especially their heads) made it impossible for them to sleep. The only places where there were legitimate beds were in the cabins of the special humans.

Tibbles had noted some time ago that most of the other humans tended to follow orders from some humans, but not others. There was the giant of a man with the white fur on his face, from whom everyone took orders. There was another massive man with no such fur, but a flesh that could turn rock-hard whenever he wished. There was another man who always smelt of food, and who usually gave small bits of fish to the cats when no-one was looking. For some reason, all of these people kept their doors closed to nighttime visitors.

Then there was the bird-human. When they had first met the bird-human, his skin had been so wonderfully warm that they had attempted to climb all over his person, fighting about who would get to sit on his lap. While the rest of the humans loved the cats and would be more than honoured to bear a proud cat upon his lap, this one did not like it in the least and did everything he could to escape them. For a while, neither cat knew why he disliked them so. Did he not understand that he was there to do _their_ bidding?

Not a few days later, they had gotten their answer. This human was different. He could change into a bird. A very tasty-looking bird. They had only tried to eat him once or twice. They couldn't understand why the bird-human got so mad every time. Birds were meant to be chased and eaten, weren't they? Just like humans were made to provide food, entertainment, and petting.

At any rate, he certainly never let either cat into his room, even though he was so very warm to curl up beside.

Then, one day, something amazing happened.

Shanni was resting his weary bones, having already patrolled for and hunted two rats and a mouse earlier that day, and was leaving the night watch to his young pupil. Tibbles was committed to his duty, sniffing high and low for any hint of the voracious little pests that did not belong on his ship, eating their food.

As Tibbles made his way to the aft of the deck, he smelled something he was quite certain he didn't recognise. It smelled human, so he wasn't alarmed… But why would a human sleep on the deck, and not in a room or in a hammock?

He padded softly to the human's side, sniffing all around him. The young man had a faint whiff of smoke about his person, and not much of food. He must not have eaten anything that night. How very odd. Most humans ate everything they could cram into their gaping maws.

Tibbles nudged the human's arm with his head and nearly jumped back, startled. No human had ever been this warm before! Not even the bird-human! He quickly darted back to find old Shanni resting by the giant white-furred human's door. They conferred quickly and both bounded back to the new boy.

Shanni had been certain that Tibbles was over-exaggerating, as he had a tendency to do. He was young, after all, and everything was more exciting to the young ones. He batted the boy's arm with a paw, and then drew back, eyes wide in surprise. For once, Tibbles had been right on the mark.

Both cats sniffed all around the boy, butting him with their heads or batting him with their paws to determine which spots were the warmest. With that determined, they each curled up with him, one at his head and one in the crook of his bent body, and with that, they went to sleep. But not before Shanni bopped Tibbles on his head and ordered him to go finish the night patrol before he was allowed to get any sleep at all.

* * *

><p>As Marco awoke the next morning and ascended the stairs to the deck to deliver his morning wake-up call to the ship, his eyes caught the sleeping forms of the demon creatures that kept trying to eat him whenever he changed shape curled around Ace, who had apparently constructed an almost-mattress out of the blanket that had been lent to him.<p>

He shook his head. If that wasn't a bad omen, he wasn't sure what was.

* * *

><p>(AN): Okay, so it's half the size of my normal chapters. So sue me.

_Soft kitty, warm kitty_

_Little ball of fur_

_Happy kitty, sleepy kitty_

_Purr, purr purr_

But yeah. I love cats. I have four, not counting my sister's cat, Pumpkin, who is queen of the whole humans-are-my-slaves thing. She is also very judgmental. She looks at you with those judging eyes and you feel bad and you're not sure why you suddenly care what a cat thinks.


	14. Day 56

So, yeah. My friends and family have already heard about this, but I kinda collapsed in judging a forensics/debate tournament yesterday. Paramedics were called, but it didn't look like I really needed to go to the hospital, so… Idk. Shit's been a little on the hectic side, even without the random fits of… whatever the hell that was. Got a little free time and decided to write more of this because I really need some Ace + WBP to brighten my weekend.

Day 56

Ace hadn't gotten to actually meet Holli all day. She'd been swarmed by her old friends who _all_ wanted to catch up as soon as she'd stepped on board. He could tell she had auburn hair and a nice laugh (and, if the clunking of her footsteps was any indication, she wore some serious high heels), but that was about it.

It was a bit past midnight before he got to talk to her, and that was only because she'd sought him out specifically. Ace had been shocked beyond all words that she'd known about him at all, let alone that she wanted to meet him.

"You're Ace, right?" Holli said tentatively.

"Yeah! I'd ask how you know, but…" he chuckled and shrugged.

She smiled back. "You'd think, but no. I didn't recognise you and then I asked somebody who you were… I got bombarded with stories from Thatch. And Marco. I didn't think Marco was a chatty kind. You must be a bad influence," she said.

"That, or Thatch is. I may not be overly chatty myself, so it's clearly my prerogative to say-"

"-it's Thatch's fault," they finished together, grinning.

Then she did something strange. Holli's smile faded, a dark cloud passing over her eyes. Her face didn't move much to betray her emotions, but her face was nowhere near as schooled as Marco's. Ace picked up on it immediately.

"Hey, something wrong?"

She stiffened and glanced up at him. "Uh, no. Nothing."

He had known this woman all of three minutes, minus what he'd heard about her from crew members or Marco. He just didn't feel comfortable calling her out on her lies yet.

"Anyway, Ace, they've been saying some pretty interesting things about you. And by interesting, I mean perfectly mad." The clouded look was all but gone.

Ace rolled his eyes. "Aye; they do that."

"Have you given them good cause?"

"Per-maybe-haps."

"So… They mention something they refer to as "The Incident." I feel that's a little strong of a…" She paused as Ace shook his head violently.

"We don't talk about The Incident," he said.

"That's what they told me, but I'm one to search for loopholes until I'm assured none can be found." She smiled. "So why do you hate Oyaji?"

Ace coughed. "Sorry, what?"

"Why do you hate Oyaji Whitebeard?"

He stared at her incredulously. "You don't beat around the bush much, huh?"

"Beating around the bush is for pansies. Now, are you going to answer my question or not?" she said.

"Er – I, uh… Well, I have things I need to do in this world, and he's keeping me from doing those things…"

"So you hate him because he's in your way?"

"No! Fuck; I didn't say I hated him," Ace muttered.

"So you don't hate him," she confirmed.

"Well… No."

"Then why are you fighting him?"

"I already said it once."

"Funny, because that seemed more like a reason for why you wanted to fight him in the first place and not a reason at to why you're _still_ fighting him."

Ace was flustered as hell by now. "Why is this any of your business?"

Her eyes had this light, this mischief in them with which Ace was very uncomfortable. "Because."

"That's a child's response."

"Correction. _This_ is a child's response," she said, and promptly blew him a raspberry. "Besides, I have my reasons. Just because I choose not to enumerate them doesn't mean they don't exist. So, if you don't hate Whitebeard, how _do_ you feel about him?"

Ace rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I don't know… I guess, if stuff weren't… the way things are, I guess I'd be kinda okay with him? I don't know."

Holli's bright green eyes sharpened. "Meaning you'd like him if thing's weren't the way they are? If you'll permit me asking, what _is_ 'the way things are'?"

"I've got dreams! I've got goals! I'll never reach them if I just let things stay as is!" Ace tried to stress.

"And changing your goals and dreams is out of the question?"

"That's a coward's way out. Something's too hard to accomplish, so you say, 'Screw hard work; I'll just try for something easier'? That's pathetic!"

"I never said change it to something easier, nor did I mention reasoning. Your dreams and goals should reflect what you actually want out of life, no?"

"Er… I guess, yeah."

"And if you're chasing something down just because it's a dream from your childhood and because you're a stubborn little cuss and not because you actually want it any-more, does that not seem like a colossal waste of time and energy that could be spent acquiring happiness and a satisfying life?"

It was at that point that Ace decided he didn't like Holli. Marco had been dead right; she made you feel stupid beyond what you had believed was possible. There was no winning a debate with her. It didn't help that she spoke with the cadence of a queen and a mild, almost uninterested tone that gave the impression that she didn't even have to try to destroy your argument. It was almost degrading. He'd feel a little better about it if she didn't look so damn smug, one eyebrow cocked ever-so-annoyingly. Or maybe he wasn't irritated with her at all. Maybe he was just pissed because she was winning, and Ace hated losing, especially when the opponent wasn't even Whitebeard.

"Well, this has been a fine introduction," he grumbled. "Marco was right about you."

"Indeed it has, and whatever Marco has been saying, I imagine it's fallen far short of reality," she said. "But I think you're going to chuck me into the ocean if I keep pushing, so I'll be a dear this once and let it go. For now."

"Gee, thanks(!)" Ace said.

"I really am sorry. I didn't come over here just to heckle."

"Really? Could've fooled me."

Holli gave him a mock stern look. "Now, don't you give me that look, mister. I have a three-year-old who has already taken the Grand Prize for petulance, and there's really no point in competing for runner-up. I just wanted to meet the replacement," she said. "I'm pleased you're not only competent, but a good person besides. What a rare combination these days."

"Wait, back up. Replacement?" Ace asked, alarmed. "What? Who's replacing who, now?"

She just laughed. "Nothing you need to worry about, sweetie. I'll let it be happy surprise."

"Shit! 'Happy surprise' by your standards or mine?" he cried.

"Mmmmm… How concerned would you be if I said 'Wait and find out?'"

"You wouldn't dare!"

"They keep saying that, and it keeps not being true."

"I thought you said you weren't here to heckle," Ace grumbled.

"I just wanted to meet you, dear. See what you were like. Now that I've done that, I have to have something else to fill the time."

"You're deranged."

"'Obnoxious and disliked' is the term, I believe."

"I'd say it if it were true, but," Ace said, gesturing at the mess hall, "they seem to like you just fine. I'm wondering if they should be diagnosed, as well."

"I imagine everyone who goes to sea is in some way certifiable," Holli said wisely.

"If my family's any indication…" Ace muttered.

Holli laughed, and Ace hated that he quite liked the sound. Her voice when she laughed reminded him of Luffy, but without that grating lilt that Luffy always felt to need to incorporate on the end of his words and sounds. He then tried to imagine Luffy speaking like Holli did and his brain promptly died.

Marco swooped in out of bloody well nowhere, slinging an arm around both of them. Holli let out an undignified yelp and proceeded to smack Marco upside the back of his head.

"Sorry 'bout that, Hol'. Ya done terrorising the poor kid yet?"

She glared at him. "I never terrorise."

"Too right. You torture. In place of a blade, you have a tongue, which is far sharper than any blade could be. It pierces all flesh and doesn't even require Sea Stone to do it," he said.

"You're being a buttmunch, Marco dear. No-one likes a buttmunch." With that, she reached to push Marco over. Alas, he knew her too well and bent to get out of her way. Instead, she touched Ace's arm.

Ace had no idea what was happening when Holli went completely still. Her eyes were wide, staring at nothing. She was still bent mid-nudge, and her face had suddenly gone deathly pale. He could see she was still breathing, and that was the only thing that kept him from yelling for Joshua.

Marco, on the other hand, knew exactly what it was. He gently put a hand on her shoulder, shaking her ever so slightly. She blinked, and immediately straightened. She gave him a tiny, grateful smile with a face that was still much too pale and lips that shook. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly. "Do you need to go lie down?"

She swallowed before speaking. "Er, I suppose it wouldn't do any harm… Since my own bed is just down a ladder and over some grass…" She laughed, and it was nothing like the clear noise Ace heard earlier. She turned and quickly popped her head into the mess hall to bid her goodnights to the crew. As the calls and well-wishes followed her, she slid down the ladder and all but ran to her own house.

"What was that?" Ace asked quietly.

"Premonition," Marco said, just as quiet. "She gets them when she touches people sometimes."

"She didn't look that good… I must be screwed," Ace joked.

Marco flashed him a small smile. "She did the same thing to Thatch ages ago, and nothing's happened to him. I wouldn't worry about it, personally."

"Thatch? Really?"

"Yup. The guy pretty much never leaves this boat. The only way something could happen to him would be if there were a plot from the inside."

Both broke out laughing at that. There couldn't possibly be any traitors on Whitebeard's ship. It was definitely a laughable concept.

"Okay, yeah. I've probably got nothing to worry about. Maybe I'm just gonna be hella ugly when I'm old and that's what she looked so concerned about," Ace said.

"That's the spirit."

* * *

><p>A few hours later, as the sun rose, Holli came back aboard the Moby Dick to give giant hugs to her old friends, carrying her little girl, Calwynn in her arms. The child was bright and curious about everything, and made Ace wonder if she was going to grow into the same kind of crazy, queenly woman her mother was. God help her if she did.<p>

Finally, it was time to bid genuine goodbyes (at least for the time being), and as Ace did his damnedest to never bid anyone goodbye (it sounded far too final and depressing), he went belowdecks.

As soon as Ace was out of sight, Holli pulled Marco close.

"Listen, Marco, I need-"

"I know what you're going to say," Marco said, "and I don't want to hear it."

"But I-"

"I know you mean well, Holli, but I know that look on your face. You're trying to outrun the train again and these races have never treated you kindly. Just let us handle it. We _can_, you know."

She hugged him close, trying to hide tears. "Then, please… Just look after Ace. He's a good boy. Please…"

Marco smiled widely. "You don't have to tell me. I'm already on it."

* * *

><p>(AN): I will address The Incident later, once I figure out which plot bunny to use for it. Perhaps I will combine multiples so all sorts of crazy shit is happening all at once.

So, depressing fucking chapter. Yeah. She knew about Thatch from the start of the chapter (before she retired 3-4 years ago, actually), and while she's somewhat come to terms with it, it still makes her a bit depressed to think about it. She did NOT know about Ace, and so her response is proportionally more… Well, we all remember what it was like for us when we read the chapters where Ace died. That was the most miserable I think I've been in a really long damn time, and that was what Holli just went through. So how did she know he would be replacing her? She poked Marco earlier and saw Ace's promotion and an adventure or two he goes on along with Marco. She's perfectly delighted with the idea of _that_, at least.


	15. Day 23

Life is unpredictable. There isn't always a punchline.

Because of this, I like to interject my own, even if I have to half-invent an alternate universe to do it. This is why humorous fiction exists. Because we're the punchline when life forgot to make your day awesome.

Day 23

OR

The Incident

On the twenty-third day aboard the Moby Dick, Ace's prescription medication for his chronic narcolepsy ran out. On his own ship, it had been ridiculously easy, even in the vast, unpredictable Grand Line, to pull over to a town or island that had a decent pharmacy and stock back up (he usually kept about a month's worth of doses on him at a time), but when you're on a ship that isn't yours with a crew that has no reason to listen to you, things get a bit more difficult.

Ace would rather bite off his own tongue than admit it, but he didn't want to make trouble for anyone. He watched his supply dwindle down to the very last pill, which he took with some regret on the twenty-second day. Well, it was officially the first day he'd gone in a very long time without any prescription drugs, and it felt very much like waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Haruta, who had at last been stationed on the flagship as per her constant requests, had noticed rather easily, seeing as they sat next to each other at breakfast.

Ace would normally expect Thatch to be the first to call it, but he was busy in the kitchens and wouldn't venture out until somewhat later in the day. Ace liked sitting near Haruta because Haruta was one of the few people aboard Whitebeard's ship who was substantially shorter than he was, not that he could ever say that to her face. She would probably kill him.

"What's got you in a tizzy?" she asked, unprompted.

"Nothin'," he said.

She whipped him with a rolled-up napkin. "Liar. You're tense and you're not sitting hunched over your food like you normally do, like you fully expect someone's going to try and steal it."

"Hey, in my family, there really are food-thieves everywhere. You have to be careful," Ace said. "And besides, I can't be tense in the morning? Since when is there a rule against that?"

She glared at him for an answer and buried her face in a lemon poppy seed muffin, complete with dinosaur noises.

He looked down at his own plate of pancakes and hoped no-one noticed that he'd foregone syrup that day. He had an alarming tendency to fall asleep in his food and the last thing he wanted to start off the day was a face full of syrup that would probably _never_ come out of his hair.

To his unending surprise, breakfast passed without incident. So did lunch. The stress was probably going to kill him, but at least it seemed to be keeping him solidly awake. He could collapse when it was time to sleep, and not one instant before.

It was 3 in the afternoon by the time the other shoe actually fucking dropped.

He was finally beginning to relax, and was unobtrusively listening to Jozu talk about one time he'd bumped into a jeweller who wanted to abduct him on sight when it happened.

Ace was hid behind a corner (but still listening attentively) and everyone else was pretending they didn't know he was there (because of course, he, as the one unfamiliar with the crew, was the only one who had yet to hear the most popular of drunken stories) when Ace noticed that his head felt a little warm. It was a fairly cold day, being still early in the year, so he'd been using his powers ever so delicately throughout the day. Even so, it shouldn't have been this warm. Maybe he'd overdone it. It was a nice warmth, though. Comfortable. Soft. His eyesight devolved into white noise and he dropped like a rock.

* * *

><p>He woke up a few minutes later to Haruta poking him with what looked to be a stick. Lord only knew where she'd obtained a stick in the middle of the ocean.<p>

"Oh, hey! He's not dead," she observed.

"Told you he was sleeping," Norma said.

"But who the hell just drops like that?"

"Dunno."

Ace scrambled to sit up but had to slow when the white noise kept circling at the edges of his eyesight. "Sorry. Didn't mean to. It wasn't a comment on your story or anything," he said, nodding at Jozu.

Jozu gave him an oddly accepting look and nodded. "I understand."

"Well, I don't," said Norm.

Ace coughed. "Well, there's this thing, and I sort of have a problem with falling asleep at some random-ass times of day, and there's a word for it-"

"Narcolepsy," Joshua said.

"Yeah," he said. He had to remind himself that as a doctor, it made sense that Joshua would have picked up on the signs and been able to diagnose him that quickly.

"My neighbours when I was growing up had a golden retriever puppy who would sometimes fall asleep in the middle of playing, or in the middle of a meal. I would sometimes have to look after the animal when they went on vacation, or were away on business," Jozu said.

"That is the weirdest thing," Haruta said.

"Well, narcolepsy is very rare," Joshua said.

"I wasn't talking about the narcolepsy. I just can't imagine a little-kid version of Jozu playing with a golden retriever puppy who drops like a brick every couple of minutes."

All of a sudden, Haruta froze. "Noooooo…"

"Hm? What? Are you all right?"

She looked up, a terrifyingly devious look on her face. "Oh, yes. No, listen to me, guys. This is gonna be fuckin' priceless. Okay, so you haven't told anybody about this problem of yours, right, Ace?"

"Er, no. I only just ran out of my meds."

"Beautiful," she said, cackling. "I need you to continue not to say anything. Everybody else, you better not breathe a word of this, either."

"Why? What do you have in mind?" Norma asked. Both she and her brother were under Haruta's command in the Twelfth Division and more than pleased to assist in whatever evil she had planned.

"I've wanted to do one of these for years," she said, "and now I have the chance. Murder Mystery Dinner Theatre."

"You're a sick bitch," Ace said.

"Yeah, but that's what gives me charm," she said. "Picture it, though: we're eating dinner as always when Ace suddenly blacks out. One of us rushes to his side and shouts, 'He's dead!'. Everybody around flips a shit. We declare that it's murder, and that someone has somehow poisoned him. We pretend-investigate everyone who sat near him or touched his food. Then, I point the finger at Thatch, and then we shake Ace awake just as Thatch is finished soiling his pants."

"Why Thatch?" Ace asked. "What did he do to earn your wrath?"

Haruta said nothing, sitting back with a stony face. "That's none of your business," she said. "Just don't tell anybody anything and we'll take care of the rest." With that, she got up and left.

The others were already bending their heads together, actually planning the Commander of the Twelfth Division's psychotic idea. Ace had to admit, whatever Thatch had done, he'd very much like not to be in the same boat as him by pissing her off.

As the others filed out, Jozu put a hand on Ace's shoulder and whispered, "Thatch gave her platform shoes for her birthday and the card said they were supposed to distract from the fact that she has double-As."

Ace nearly had a coronary trying not to laugh.

* * *

><p>As Ace ate his food, he wondered briefly if he'd be able to ward off another sleepy spell long enough to spare Thatch the revenge of the four-foot-nine demon sitting next to him. He then wondered if it was worth it. Probably not.<p>

Ace actually got through most of his spaghetti amidst Haruta's impatient glares, taking care to scrape as much sauce as he could onto a spoon (again, that shit was a pain to get out of his hair), before that warm, fuzzy feeling came back.

He sank into oblivion. And tomato sauce.

* * *

><p>There were voices. Fuzzy voices. High ones. Low ones. Constant noise. What had he been doing again? What the hell felt so gross and squishy all along the right side of his face?<p>

…Oh, God damn it.

Well, better let Haruta have her way. Better stay shut up for now. Or go back to sleep. That seemed like a good option, too. He didn't feel like having to deal with all this shit right now.

"The criminal…" Haruta was saying dramatically, "IS YOU!" She swept a regal arm around to point straight at Thatch.

He spluttered, panic evident in how high his voice went. "But – But I would never-!"

"Do you deny that of all the people here, you had the most access to Ace's food?" she said.

"Well, no-"

"And do you deny the testimonies that Ace has been extremely wary of his food all day? Have you an explanation for that, outside the possibility that Ace _knew_ his death today would come at the hands of a chef? _Can you explain that_?" She was getting pretty into it.

"But I didn't kill him! I didn't kill Ace!" Thatch wailed.

Okay, that was it. She'd had her fun. Ace had to fake waking up for the first time.

"Mmmm ngh… wha-?" he mumbled, shifting. He brought up a hand to ease the crick in his neck that had resulted from sleeping at a weird angle. "Wha's go'n' on?"

"ACE!" Thatch cried. "Oh, thank Jesus! You see! You s-!" Thatch stopped when he saw the smug-ass look on Haruta's face. "…You… You lying bi…"

"He's narcoleptic. Falls asleep in weird situations. That's for the double-A comment, dicksneeze," she hissed with glee.

Thatch was left to gape like a fish as the others went back to their dinner, Haruta went back to her cabin, and Ace went around for a napkin to wipe the damn tomato sauce out of his eyes.

Marco heard about the whole thing the next day and didn't stop laughing for hours. Even if he and Thatch did have an interesting, if somewhat antagonistic relationship, they were still brothers and friends, and it was only this bond that eventually brought the heckling and jeering to an end.

At Thatch's request, Marco dubbed the whole thing, 'The Incident' (with capitals), and decreed that anyone who spoke of it from that day forth outside of the words 'The Incident' would be dangled over the ocean from a good 2,000 metres in the sky, courtesy of their favourite ignited bird. It was likely all that prevented it from being used as blackmail material.

* * *

><p>(AN): Haruta and Norma get along swimmingly. It's almost creepy how alike I made their personalities, with the slight difference that Haruta's meaner. And, consequently, funnier.

I've always wanted to do a Murder Mystery Dinner Theatre. I'll avoid using narcoleptic people to do it, though. That's just mean.

Again, I still have shit to do, and I don't really know why I keep coming back to this fic, but I've yet to hear a complaint, I guess? Well, until ALL my shit is finished (to put it in perspective, I still have two presentations, two papers, two finals, one 3-page artist study, and a watercolour painting due before I'm free), daily updates are still out of the question. At least, that's what I keep saying. BRAIN, Y U IGNORE WHAT I'M SAYING?


	16. Day 35

This chapter is for Shiary, because that's precisely who the idea came from.

I'm done with ALL my shit! Go me! I have no idea how I did it, but I did. Now I have an entire week of absolutely nothing, so updates will be much more frequent. ^^ I missed writing this while I had eighteen million freaking assignments due. It sang to me in my sleep and I still couldn't write for it.

Day 35

Funny shit tended to follow you home from port.

Often, the new additions to a ship after going into port would include rats, or mice, or something equally unpleasant and parasitic that would invariably get into the food stores. Sometimes, though, you got something else.

Mikhail and Hannah (the brunette one) were the first to fall.

It had been dinner on the first day after leaving port when Mikhail had been sitting, hunched over his food. His eyes were glassy and he stared at his plate as though he couldn't quite comprehend what was on it, and certainly didn't want to ingest anything. He had turned exceedingly pale except for his flushed cheeks and forehead. He had quickly waved away any comments on his appearance, saying he was perfectly fine, but a good ten minutes into the meal, his head hit the table, eyes still open and staring into nothing, mumbling deliriously with fever. Joshua had quickly escorted him away to the infirmary, but in another twenty minutes, Hannah had professed to similar symptoms and had to be led away, as well.

The tension the next morning was thick. Ace could feel it, even if no-one said anything. Sickness on the sea could be life-threatening to everyone on board, not only because good medicines were hard to come by, but also because on a ship, diseases spread very quickly. If a good percentage of the crew became ill, not everyone might make it to the next port of call. Ships were breeding grounds for disease, with no viable escape route besides the cold, unforgiving sea. It didn't help that rumour spread even more quickly than did the sickness. Pirates might not fear battle or pain or any of that, but an enemy you can't see or strike down? It certainly didn't help that Jiru, Fossa, Curiel, Norma, Simcoe, Richard, and Thatch were all sick by lunch, either. The nurses had ordered Whitebeard to stay in his cabin until the epidemic had ground to a halt, telling him that if he caught whatever was going around on top of all of his other medical issues, they would make no guarantees as to his long-term health.

Ace himself had noticed a buzzing in his head and a slight dizziness that he knew had not been there before right before lunch. However, he was a crafty little bastard and simply lit himself on fire for a good thirty seconds – no virus could withstand the heat he could achieve, and after that, he'd felt right as rain.

Joshua had been intrigued. "Can you do something like that for everyone?" he asked.

"Not unless you want me to cook their brains. What kills viruses will kill you, too," he said.

Joshua slapped himself in the forehead gently. "Sorry, I'm a dumbass. I can't think straight."

Ace looked at him with concern. "You're not getting sick too, are you?"

"Shit, I hope not!"

But he had. When Ace heard that bit of news, the only thing he could hear in his mind, over and over again, was an endless tirade (oddly enough, incorporating a consistent tune) of "fuck". He might've actually started singing the Fuck Song aloud at some point.

Selma was in over her head and it was a little obvious, because her hair became more and more unkempt. It also showed in her comprehensive knowledge of the Fuck Song, as well.

"Ace!" she snapped, her head poking out of the infirmary.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Ass. Yours. Here. Now."

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered.

She sat him down in a corner chair and peered nearsightedly at a clipboard in one hand, shoveling her fingers through her hair with the other.

"You're immune to this shit, yeah? That's what Josh's notes say."

"Kinda," he said, shrugging. "I got sick a little, but just burned it out of my system. I'm not going to be bedridden any time soon, if that's what you mean."

"Yes, precisely," she said. "I don't know jack shit about regular diseases. That's Josh's territory. I'm a career surgeon, for fuck's sake! I'm here to stitch you back together, not diagnose the flu from hell. What's the point of having a diagnostician around when he goes and fucking gets sick himself?" she ranted. Ace was pretty sure she wasn't talking to him any more.

"So… why did you need to ask me that?"

"Huh? Oh. There are too many damn patients for me to get around to all at once. I need some help, and since you're not running the ship or cooking sustenance, guess what job I'm saddling you with?"

"Ooooooh," he groaned, leaning back.

"Don't give me that shit, mister!" she said. "You freeload like you've been doing and now you won't just take down people's temperatures? It's not fucking rocket science! Even if it were, I'm told you know rocket science, so what the fuck is your problem?"

"Nothing, nothing! Criminey," he said.

"Now I've got other shit to do, so go talk to Ginger Hannah. She'll give you a crash course on what to do as far as nursing goes."

"Okay," he said. As he left the room, he heard crashing noises and substantial cursing that even he, foul-mouthed as he was, would not repeat in public.

* * *

><p>Red-headed Hannah stared at him, mouth slightly agape. "She said what, now?"<p>

"I told you," Ace said, "Selma just told me she needed someone to help with the nursing shit because she had her hands full and then she bitched about Josh being sick and started knocking over junk and yelling! There's not much else to tell."

"I just can't believe she would ask for help," Hannah said. "And she sent you to me specifically?"

"Yeah."

Ace did not like the slow smile that crept across Hannah's face _at all_. Not one bit. She looked a little too much like a female Thatch who had suddenly come up with a marvelous prank to play on Marco, and the comparison was a frightening one, especially when considering that he was probably the target of whatever maniacal thoughts she'd somehow come up with.

"If you're going to nurse, you're going to have to go all nine yards. We don't deal with half-assed effort in the business of medicine," she said, voice smooth as silk and ten times more terrifying than it had been.

"What?" he asked, voice full of apprehension.

She flounced off of the countertop she'd been occupying to stand very close to Ace, looking down into his eyes (because really, at 6'2'', the woman was a giant).  
>"You see, Ace, we have to make sure everyone knows exactly what duty you've taken up. If you're hurrying through the halls, people have to know to get out of your way, don't they? You now have a sacred task, bestowed upon you by a member of our noble profession, and even though your position is temporary at best, you must respect the position and carry out your responsibilities to the best of your ability, no matter what they might entail."<p>

"What does that mean?" Ace was pretty damn sure he didn't want to know but had to ask, anyway.

Hannah winked and walked over to a supply cabinet. She pulled something from it and showed it to Ace.

All he could think of was the Fuck Song.

* * *

><p>Selma could hear the bickering of two familiar voices in the hall outside, and since her day had been mostly humourless thus far, decided to just let them go at it.<p>

"I'm telling you, this is stupid! Now let me go back and change!"

"No! Listen, everyone in that room is either unconscious or delirious! No-one will even remember any of this, and if they do, we'll just chalk it up to the fever talking, okay?"

"No, it is not okay! What part of this – _any_ of this – is in any way okay?"

"God; you're such a whiny baby."

"I am not!"

"Then _go_!" With the last word, Ace was shoved bodily into the sick bay, clutching a long coat around his person. He paused awkwardly before he could yell at Hannah, who had delivered the swift boot to the rear end that had gotten him moving, staring instead at Selma with a very red face. She raised an eyebrow.

"Why are you wearing a coat, Portgas?"

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I… I got cold."

"You don't get cold. You're made out of fire, for fuck's sake."

Ace couldn't come up with another bad excuse, so he just settled for blushing even redder and darting his gaze everywhere except Selma's eyes.

"What, are you naked under there or something?"

"_No_!" Ace cried. "Although I'd almost rather be, though…"

"That can be arranged!" Hannah's voice called from the hallway, sounding far too eager to be decent.

"Well, if you're not going starkers, then what's your problem?" Selma asked.

"I – I just, er…"

She'd wasted enough of her time on this shit and there were sick people who needed her attention. Her hands darted forward and yanked the coat open.

She'd stared for a few seconds, eyebrows almost to her hairline. Then, wordlessly, she'd smiled widely. She cleared her throat and simply pointed him to supply closet in the corner, similar to the one in the nurses' room just outside Whitebeard's cabin.

As Ace traded out the short skirt for proper scrubs, Selma indulged in a silent giggle fit, sticking her head out into the hall to trade awesome faces with Hannah, mostly involved mouthed phrases like, "what the fuck?" and "I know".

By the time she trusted herself not to combust into laughter at the sight of him, Selma attempted to regain composure and enter the room anew.

She had to admit… Ace was a man who would probably look good in anything, but in scrubs, he was just plain sexy. Not that the miniskirt and corset hadn't done wonders for his figure. Still, simple, loose-fitting cotton worked well for him, and the glasses he wore to read the medical charts combined to make the perfect combination of adorable and sex on legs.

Now, if only she had a camera.

* * *

><p>The fevers and chills and illnesses had all faded after about three days of intense care. Everyone thanked their lucky stars that it hadn't been a more serious disease, and that no-one had stayed delirious with fever long enough to sustain permanent brain damage or do themselves a personal injury.<p>

Thatch was drinking fluids, just like his doctors both recommended him to do (whiskey and sake technically were fluids, right?) and resting up. His fever had broken, but he still felt a little on the shaky side and dizzy from the many days he had spent abed. He mourned the lost time that could have been spent preparing the splendid prank he'd thought up just before Marco left on his one-week trip, but if he hurried, he thought he might just make it.

What confused him was a vague memory he had of someone taking care of him while he was ill. It hadn't been Selma – too tall. It couldn't have been Joshua, like he'd thought, because word was that Joshua had gotten sick as a dog, too. He thought he remembered black hair and a soft smile and green scrubs, but not much else. He remembered being warm and comfortable and happy despite how sick he was, and a calm, soothing voice asking him if he was okay or needed anything. It was an almost motherly voice, a voice that genuinely cared about him and wanted nothing more than to make life easier for him.

He was pretty sure he was wrong about his theory on who it might have been, but then… It would make him so very happy if he was right.

* * *

><p>(AN): So yeah. Thatch is one of the (very) few who actually totally meant it when he called Ace "Ofukuro". Yeah, he figured it out. You see how I bring my shit full circle? I didn't even have that _planned_ when I sat down to write.

Aaaah, the Fuck Song. How well-acquainted I have become with it. My Aunt sings it in DC traffic. I hummed it all during the writing of my research paper. For those interested, the tune is very similar to that of "Frosty the Snowman". Conversely, there is another song, "Shitty Shitty Bang Bang", which is derived from "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" in a like manner, but is somewhat cleaner of language.


	17. Day 67

Again, the basic idea comes from Shiary, but with some substantial tweaking on my part. Also, I am so infinitely sorry, but I forgot about Stefan the dog entirely. Thanks to Dawn of Destruction for reminding me!

Day 67

Being alone (more or less) on the Moby Dick sucked royal balls. Ace hated to admit it, but he had really gotten used to having everyone around. After more than seven years growing up with the man-who-could-never-shut-up-even-if-his-life-quite-literally-depended-on-it and another year or so surrounded by a loving crew, the silence was like a monster lurking in the night that never bothered to attack, but just waited there, calmly dropping whispered comments and suggestions that were too cruel and evil to register properly.

Ace was lonely.

There wasn't much he could do about it, though. This particular time, some dumb piece of shit had attacked a village on an island Whitebeard had expressly claimed for his own, which of course demanded retribution in the form of Oyaji's – damn it, _Whitebeard's_ – earth-shattering (literally!) fist. They had docked early that morning, before even the sun had risen, and when Ace woke up a few hours later, he'd woken up to a mostly silent ship (apart from the purring of the damn cats who thought he was some sort of heating pad) and a note from Marco.

He looked down at the piece of paper in his hand, glaring at it.

_Hey, Ace,_

_Sorry we're not going to be there when you wake up this morning. You know the whole story and everything, so suffice to say we're going to get into battles and all that fun crap. Well, maybe not so much fun as less dull. We ought to be back before dinner, but if we're not, you're free to raid the kitchen. Just don't touch my pomegranates or shit WILL be going down. Please do not get off the ship and wander around. These areas aren't going to be safe today. Speaking of which, if somebody you don't recognise tries to get on the ship, feel free to torch the bastard. See you when we get back._

_Marco_

God, he was so annoying. "These areas aren't going to be safe"? Please. Who exactly did he think Ace was, some ridiculous little five-year-old who needed babysitting? Who needed protection from the big bad pirates that were wandering around?

"Give me a fuckin' break," Ace muttered to himself. Well, and to the animals.

The cats and Whitebeard's dog, Stefan, had all been left aboard the Moby Dick. What was worse, all of them loved Ace when he wasn't lighting shit on fire.

Ace didn't really know if he was a cat or a dog person. Sabo had been a cat person (he liked how soft and agreeable they were, as well as their clear and distinct personalities) and Luffy was a dog person (they were as dumb and obliviously happy as Luffy was), but Ace couldn't really pick one or the other. And weren't they supposed to hate each other instead of lounging indiscriminately all over his arms, legs, and occasionally head? It didn't help that Stefan was big for a dog and liked to sprawl over Ace's entire lower half, keeping him from getting up. Then there was one cat curled around his head and another napping on his chest, front legs splayed around Ace's neck in something adorably reminiscent of a hug. Ace didn't have the heart to chuck the little bastards off, no matter _how_ badly he had to pee.

It would be another hour before the animals decided to leave him the hell alone.

* * *

><p>Dinner was the most depressing meal Ace had eaten in a very long time. Possibly years. He'd hoped they would all be back by now. Hadn't Marco's letter said they should be back by now? When no-one else was around, Ace ate in half-hearted silence, never looking up or really thinking about how his food tasted. He wanted to hear Thatch telling some kind of disgusting joke right when he'd taken a big swig of something and then have to half-choke himself to keep from spraying it all right in Marco's face. He wanted Haruta's shrill yells to carry over an already-monstrous hubbub, and possibly a thrown chair or two that might either be related or a separate incident. He wanted to trip over someone passed out on the floor, drunk. He wanted to hear Whitebeard's gurgling old-man laugh above it all, full of mirth and rejoicing in the simple pleasures in life.<p>

Instead, the hall was empty. Silent. Unmoving. Oppressive.

He didn't want to be in this hall any more.

Ace chucked his dirty dishes into a sink (but was careful not to leave the knives in water, because Thatch had threatened to make him drink his own piss for a week if he ever did that again – apparently, doing that absolutely _ruined_ knives) and went out on the deck. He rested his folded arms on the railing and just stared out at the darkness. There were a few stars out already, but not too many. The vaguest hints of the setting sun could still be seen, but Ace knew they were dying gasps at best.

There was something else, too. His brow furrowed. What the hell was-?

Ace vaulted over the railing, being sure to adjust the thrust his flames provided to keep him from landing in the water. He cautiously sent out his _Hotarubi_ (minus the detonation aspect) just to see better in the dark.

"Mar-!" he began, but stopped, wide-eyed and confused.

Marco, face grim, stood beside his Captain and Father, who had a massive gash across his left arm. The running blood looked almost black in the dark, stark as it was against the white of his clothes and the paleness of his flesh. Marco's eyes stayed mostly on Whitebeard, as though he meant to catch the larger man if he should fall. The other commanders were close behind, bearing similar expressions.

Ace's mind almost shut down. His mouth formed "what?" but no sound escaped. He didn't understand. He _couldn't_ understand. Someone had just told him the sky was green and the grass was blue. Nothing made sense.

Marco finally registered Ace's presence and gave him a nod. Ace numbly nodded back and stepped out of the way.

He trailed along at Marco's side the rest of the way, silent, wide-eyed, and staring at something nobody else could see.

* * *

><p>It was more than an hour past midnight, but Ace couldn't have told you exactly how much longer. The crew had gotten every wound treated, including Whitebeard's, eaten, and promptly gone to bed before they would have to deal with anything in the morning.<p>

Ace never intended to go to sleep that night. He made a good show of it, and the cats had already settled on his legs for the night, but this time, he felt no compunction in booting them off. They got their revenge by taking his spot immediately after he'd vacated it.

Ace's bare feet hardly touched the ground, he moved so quickly and quietly. He stared hard at the large wooden door to Whitebeard's cabin. Stefan, snoozing away at the ground beside it, paid him no heed.

Ace decided against knocking and pushed the unlocked door open, mind swimming with a thousand things to say. There was Whitebeard, sitting in bed with a small candle on the nightstand so he could see the pages of the book he was reading, so comically small in his massive hands. Ace's plans for a shouting match died away.

"Ace? Did you need something?" he asked.

And just like that, everything he'd planned to say was gone from his mind. He floundered around, hoping the words would come back to him. "You… you're not… This – I mean, Jesus Christ, you… I don't get it. Why? How?"

"I'm certain you heard when I was telling everyone before."

"That's _not_ what I meant and you _know_ it," Ace said, finally finding some of that rage, that heat he was trying to go for originally. It faded as soon as it arrived. "…You're not supposed to lose to anyone but me."

The corners of Whitebeard's mouth hike up in a smile. "I didn't lose to anyone. If you'll recall, it _was_ relayed that we sent them crying home to their mothers like the whiny little undergarment-soilers they are."

"You know what I mean," Ace said. His eyes locked on the stark white bandage on Whitebeard's upper left arm. "Nobody's supposed to hurt you."

"…Except for you."

Ace froze, eyes widening slightly, and then relaxed. "Yeah."

"If it makes you feel any better, Ace, it was pure stupid accident on my part. I don't take these small-town back-births seriously, and in this case, I probably should have. If I had paid attention and taken them as seriously as I take you, for example, they wouldn't have been able to land a single blow." He was rewarded with a tiny smile on Ace's face, which the younger man quickly hid. "So, did you get bored waiting around an empty ship all day? Ravage Marco's pomegranate stores, perhaps?"

Ace grinned a pure shit-eating grin, which eerily reminded Whitebeard of a certain long-dead rival of his. "Mighta."

"Now there's a response that fills me with trepidation," he said.

"As well it should," Ace said. "No, but seriously, I've never been so bored in my _life_. What are the odds somebody _else_ can stay on the ship next time? There are only so many of Izou's beauty products that you can hide in awkward places before you're just sitting around with nothing to do."

"I'm going to pretend I did not hear that so that when tomorrow I feign ignorance, it will not be too big of a lie."

"Wise of you."

"But Ace," Whitebeard said, regarding the boy with a serious brown eye, "why on earth would you want to fight our battles? They do have their dangers, and to put someone largely uninvolved in harm's way…"

Ace bit a lip. "Just because I'm not involved doesn't mean I'll sit home and twiddle my thumbs while the big boys are out doing the _real_ work."

Whitebeard's eyes widened an imperceptible degree. He wondered if Ace understood. Probably not.

"I've never been the type to sit still. I can't do it. I hate being kept in the dark, or kept out of something. I can watch my own ass if that's what you're worried about! I just… I just hate being left alone, is all." The last words were so quiet, Whitebeard almost didn't catch them. Almost.

Whitebeard grinned. "If you hate being bored witless that much, I suppose there's no harm in letting you come along. Be prepared, though; no-one will be watching your back for you out there. You'll need to take care of yourself."

"Of course not! I never expected anything else!" Ace said.

"So does this mean you're finally agreeing to become my son?"

Ace spluttered out an outraged, "HELL NO, OLD MAN!", but Whitebeard had already thrown back his head and loosed that gurgling laugh of his. The boy, red in the face (it wasn't clear if embarrassment or rage was the cause), darted out of the room and slammed the door behind him, leaving the resident to continue to chuckle quietly to himself.

He wondered when Ace would realise that, even if it was an accident, he'd referred to the Moby Dick as _home_.

* * *

><p>(AN): Whitebeard's insults are fun to write. They're mean and so proper at the same time.

UGH. SCUMBAG BRAIN. I say I'm not going to update often, and you update twice a day. I say I'll update frequently, and I update once in three days. WTF MAKE UP YOUR GODDAMN MIIIIIIIIIIIIND. The chapter's kind of on the short side. I'm sorry 'bout that, but hey! when you've run out of stuff to say, you've run out of stuff to say.


	18. Day 58

BEEN PAINTING NON-STOP IN BETWEEN FINALS FOR DAAAAAAAYS. This one is written so badly just because I've gone a few days without writing and it's hard to get back in the swing of things.

Slight prompt from one of Nire-chan's fanart pieces, but otherwise all my work.

Day 58

"I've run out of ideas."

Ace stared at Thatch, mouth hanging open slightly. "Impossible."

Thatch had a sour look on his face. "Oh, it's completely possible. And it's just happened. I have had _no_ inspiration recently, and I haven't got a single prank in mind."

Ace rubbed his face. "Marco's gonna think the world has ended if you don't do _some_thing in the next few days. Hell, the world might _actually_ end."

"Oh, I expect so," Thatch said. "Maybe that should be the prank itself: make Marco paranoid as fuck and then do nothing at all."

"Cop-out."

"Yeah. Might be funny, though."

Ace scratched his head. "Well, who says the idea for the joke has got to be yours? Ask somebody else. I bet there are a couple of people around here who have been dying to pull a fast one on Marco for years but just haven't gotten up the balls to do it. Most likely because they see what happens to you whenever you do it…"

Thatch's head rose slowly, his eyes drilling a hole in Ace's head. Honestly, that should have been the first warning sign.

"…What?" he said.

"Would you be one of those 'couple of people'?" Thatch asked.

Ace stared at him blankly for a few seconds before laughing loudly and nervously. "Absolutely not. You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

"Well, why the hell not?"

"Just because I covered for you that _one_ time does _not_ mean I have any desire to put myself in the line of fire, either literally _or_ metaphorically."

"Calm your tits, girlfriend, nobody's asking you to. Just give me an idea, is all!"

Ace eyed the older man suspiciously. "So I don't actually have to do anything?"

"I'm not handing out participation grades, if that's what you're asking."

He visibly relaxed. "Well… maybe… just this once…"

"Dude, I love you. No hetero."

"See the thing about pranks is… Wait. Did you just imply I was-?"

"Not a bit. Do go on."

"Hm. Well, the thing about pranks is that for inspiration in the planning stages, you have to look at them in the same way that you would a covert assassination."

"…I'm going to regret this, but what the hell does that entail?" Thatch asked.

"Just look at the person's life and their habits and inspiration will be forthcoming. An opening will present itself. Why do you think I keep attacking Oya– er, Whitebeard in the morning? That's when he moves slowest. I only figured that out from consistent observation. Now, take, say, Vista for example. He diligently keeps up that moustache of his, but covers up the rest of his head with a hat. Why? He's balding and can't bear to admit it. He applies the same hair-growth tonics every bloody day. This means that if you pull a prank involving that hair tonic, odds are pretty damn good it's going to be both successful and crippling in the same blow," Ace explained.

"You still concern the hell out of me, but you make a good point, so I'm willing to overlook it," Thatch said. "I'm assuming this is all lead-up to whatever you've got on Marco?"

Ace grinned toothily. "Indeed, my good fellow. Let it not be said that I dance around an issue too much. Marco has a habit that, as it happens, should be in effect tonight that makes him an open target."

Thatch's own smile started to grow to match Ace's. "What?"

Ace held back, savouring the next bit. "Marco loves to sleep outside, but it's always too bright and any light at all will wake him up. But, if it happens to be a new moon…"

"Oh, don't tell me…"

"Yup. He full-out roosts – _roosts_ – in the crow's nest. I kid you not."

"Like, bird-form and everything?"

"Yeah. It's hysterical. He's so very comfy, though. Sleeps like the dead. Otherwise, I expect my laughing would have woken him up."

"Dag." Thatch whistled. "I always thought he was such a light sleeper, I'd never be able to do something while he was sleeping."

"Normally, that's true, but now?" Ace chuckled darkly. "He is – dare I say it? – a _sitting duck_."

Both burst into giggles.

"You are officially my favourite."

"Thank you."

"But have you got something specific in mind?"

"Bear, woods. Pope, Catholic. You know the spiel," said Ace. "You know what they say, though. Simple is best."

"Going for the classy route, I take it? Nice, nice. So what is it?"

Ace reached up and hooked an arm around Thatch's shoulders to mutter into his ear for all of three seconds before drawing away and drinking in the look of awe on Thatch's face.

"_You bastard_," he whispered reverently.

"Now, how did _you_ know my parents never married?" Ace asked.

* * *

><p>It was all silence aboard the Moby Dick. It was three in the morning and Ace had evicted the cats in favour of helping Thatch out with the execution part of the plan, after all. The whole thing was his idea, and while he was not fond of the idea of being caught, his pride as a man (and a D, but that was another story) refused to let him allow another man to take all the credit. He had started it, and now he was under obligation to see it through to the end.<p>

He took off his shoes, padding around the deck silently, never putting his foot down all the way. He darted to the shadows just under the mast, where there was something of a blind spot from the crow's nest. Ace sincerely doubted that Marco would be waking, but he was not one to take unnecessary risks. Well… not _much_, anyway.

His heart almost caught in his throat when he saw a shadowed figure emerge from belowdecks, but calmed when he saw it was Thatch, decked out in all black to avoid catching any light that could potentially wake Marco up.

'You got it?' Ace asked in sign language.

Thatch nodded and grinned. He held it up with a triumphant and thoroughly conniving look in his eye.

Ace returned the look and motioned for them to both climb up the rope ladder that led to the crow's nest. Thatch, unsure of how to both climb and safely bear his cargo, stuck it in his hair for safekeeping.

Ace, having gone first, predictably made it up faster than Thatch did. He peered anxiously over the wooden partition and sighed in relief at the sight of a blue-tinted bird calmly sleeping amidst a pile of non-flammable blankets. It was downright adorable, all things considered, but they were there for business, so there was really no time to bask in it.

Ace held out an open palm.

Thatch carefully withdrew his cargo from his hair, handing it over gingerly.

Ace crouched and as quietly and gently as he was able, placed the egg beneath Marco's body. He quickly fluffed the blankets around Marco to conceal his presence and drew back, releasing the breath he hadn't even realised he'd been holding. Marco hadn't stirred a bit. Thatch looked as tense as Ace was, and with a quick nod from one to the other, they scurried down to their respective beds and waited for all hell to break loose come morning.

* * *

><p>Ace and Thatch had been eating their breakfasts together, confused. Nothing had happened yet. No yelling, no threats, no "Who the fuck thought that this was funny, not that I really have to ask?", and creepiest of all, no Marco. To pass the time and avoid the growing tension, they chatted about anything and nothing at all.<p>

"You were such a damn stick in the mud when you first came on board, not that I can blame you, of course," Thatch was saying, "but then all of sudden, you turn around and are… like this?"

"Oh, I was always like this. You just never noticed."

"No, I really don't think you were. You know, I think this is accumulated crazy."

"'Accumulated crazy'?" Ace asked.

"Yeah. Like, you haven't had much of a chance to be a normal level of crazy because you didn't feel comfortable with it, and as time goes on, the normal crazy builds and builds and builds, and then when you finally had a chance to let that shit out, it was a fully-fledged _monster_ of crazy. Making sense?"

"Yeah, sorta. And –"

"Too late. Already made the fledgling joke in my head."

"Damn it," Ace muttered.

"Trust me kid, we've known Marco a loooong, loooooooong time. Every bird joke out there has, in-fact, been made."

"Why did the phoenix get arrested for crossing the street?"

"Jay-walking. Heard it."

"Shit," Ace said.

"Told you," said Thatch.

A hand slammed forcefully on their table jolted both men out of their conversation. They looked up into the tightened face of Marco Phoenix. Both blanched.

At first, Marco did not speak, just let the force of his rage sink into them. Then he began. "This," he said in a low voice. "This was uncalled-for. Now, I've been a damn good sport about all your bullshit, Thatch, and because of that, I know enough to know that this isn't your style, so I'm going to jump the gun a little and assume Ace was your accomplice and criminal mastermind. This was completely degrading. It was not even a little funny, and I don't know where you get off thinking it was. Some pranks are all in good fun, and I'm willing to play along, but this was hurtful and cruel. I hope you are both properly ashamed of yourselves." And with that, he wheeled on one heel and left.

Ace leaned over first. "Don't you think he overreacted a little?"

"Yeah… And what is Oyaji doing up this early?" Thatch muttered.

Ace peered around the hall to see that, yes, Whitebeard was up and around a full hour earlier than he normal woke. Ace's eyes widened and his face screwed up, aghast and amused all at once. "Shit, you don't think…?"

"Wait, you're not suggesting…?"

"…_He really thought he laid an egg_," they hissed together, then proceeded guffaw loudly. Marco's glares from across the hall nearly lit them both on fire, but it was unnecessary, seeing as he had already taken the liberty of burning their breakfasts to an inedible state.

* * *

><p>(AN): Okay, so the concept isn't new. I just had bird jokes I wanted to make. You have no idea. NO IDEA.

But yeah. Painting is fun, but not for hours and hours and _hours_ on end. And then there's all this nonsense with a guy trying to get out of the friendzone while I'm trying to write fanfiction and I'm like, "Goddammit, I just told you I wanted to be friends! Why the hell do you have to make shit _awkward_?" Just… People.

Have a wonderful Christmas! I'll be working on presents for the next several days (I usually make them by hand, so… yeah), so a quick update is just not in the cards. Sorry. I hope your holidays are perfectly splendid. ^^


	19. BONUS:  Ave Maria

This takes place long after Ace joins up with the WBP. Just a change of pace, really.

This is the chapter where I try to be artsy and fail. I just really, really, _really_ love the feeling you get in your whole body come Christmastime. There's nothing like it. Christmas is a big deal in my family, and I don't feel like other people quite appreciate the full… effect… of the season. I don't know how to say it. We're commercialising the crap out of it and we're missing the major point: Christmas is about your family. It's not even necessarily Christian any-more. It's just that time of the year when you love everyone and everything and come to realise you are blessed, no matter what your circumstances. You are always loved, and nothing will change that.

* * *

><p>It had been more than half a year since Ace had decided to join the Whitebeard pirates, and he never regretted it even once. There were rumours flying around that he was a favoured nomination for Second Division Commander already, and with a full workload and a renewed sense of purpose, Ace finally felt… right. Everything felt right. He had never felt so sure of his place in the world before, and the experience was one he adored with everything he had. His only wish was to have his brothers by his side, basking in the same absolute peace he felt.<p>

It was difficult to keep track of time in the New World, but little things kept reminding Ace of just how much time had gone by since he had seen Luffy, and for all his happiness, the memories still brought a stab of bittersweet homesickness.

It was warm out, the sky slightly darkened with clouds pregnant with rain that smelled a good few hours away. Ace heard it before he knew exactly what was strange.

A soft, rippling note darted through the air, others following in so perfect a way that it didn't feel like music. It felt like something too lovely for words or sight had embraced Ace fully and physically constricted his chest. He looked around, not sure if the music had simply dropped into being (it seemed a viable option at the time) and found the source: a figure seated in a small nook between two water barrels held a harp as one would a frail child, softly extending fingers in a loving strum. If it weren't for the cascade of auburn hair, held in place with intricate leaf-shaped pins, Ace never would have recognised Norma. Her eyes were closed, mouth curled in a tiny smile of absolute peace. He almost interrupted her before Marco snagged him by the arm and pulled him aside.

"Don't. When she's like this, just leave her. She'll be this way for a good week and a half, I'd say. Actually, I expected her to start earlier, truth be told," he said.

"Huh?" Ace asked. "What do you mean? This happens a lot? I mean, I've never seen her like this. Happy, I mean. I didn't even know she played an instrument. Where did she even _get_ that thing?"

"One thing at time, man. I keep forgetting you weren't here last time. You were, what, one or two months late?"

"One or two months late for _what_?"

Thatch poked his head out from belowdecks. "Hey, did she start already?"

Marco nodded. "Yeah. She's starting with _Welcome to Our World_, it seems. And here I was so certain she'd start with _Agnus Dei_."

"Well, you can't have everything in life. She'll get around to it eventually," Thatch said wisely.

"…Wait a…" Ace mumbled.

"Getting it now?"

"Yeah… Is it that time of year already?"

"I know. Time goes by so fast."

"It doesn't even feel like winter."

"It never does in the Grand Line. Every island has its own climate, so whether you get the appropriate one is pretty much just a roll of the dice. It gets so hard to keep track of seasons and all that, but for some reason, Norma always just knows when it's Christmastime. She gets all happy and quiet and starts playing her harp all the time, and so we know it's getting to that time of year again. I think she also does it so that we all have something constant every year to get us in the mood. She also always knows if it's going to snow on Christmas or not. Often, she knows months in advance. Don't ask me how she does it; I haven't the faintest. It's freaky," said Marco.

"Yeah. It's like she's a totally different person around the holidays. She'll go back to normal in a few weeks," Thatch said. "In the meantime, since she's started already, I may as well get working myself. If it's Christmastime and she's playing her harp, if the whole ship doesn't smell like gingerbread and hot apple cider, I'm doing my job wrong." He winked and darted back to the kitchens, humming along with whatever song Norma had decided to play next.

"Wow. You guys really get into the spirit of things, don't you?" Ace asked.

"You don't?"

Ace shrugged. "We were pretty damn broke when I was growing up. We didn't give each other gifts except on birthdays. None of the people we rubbed shoulders with did much of it, either – they were too busy just trying to secure food and shelter, because it always got cold as balls in winter. Most of them were homeless, so I guess where folks in town got all happy for the holiday season… it just scared most of us. Every day in winter, there was at least one guy who froze to death and had to be carted away." Ace's eyes had shadows in them that Marco did not want to see at all. "Me 'n' Luffy used to stay with friends who had their own home, so we didn't freeze, but… It still was not the happiest time of year. We always spent more time together around then, though." He smiled, the shadows leaving. "Luffy used to lie his ass off and tell me he got cold so he could cling to me. Whenever I'd call him on lying, he'd just bring up that one time I dared him to make a snow angel in nothing but his knickers and he did it. I didn't think he'd actually do it, but the poor bastard nearly got frostbite proving he could do it. He still guilts me over that one."

"Oh, God, that sounds awful," Marco said. "How did his balls not freeze clean off?"

"Oh, I expect they did and he just hasn't the heart to tell me I've actually got a sister now instead," Ace said. Both men laughed and Marco clapped an arm around his shoulders.

"Hey, so Ace? Have you spent Christmas in the Grand Line yet?"

Ace thought back. "Mmmm, yeah. We were in the Grand Line already. En route to the New World, actually. We had to get the ship coated, so we stopped at the Shaboady Archipelago. I gave everybody a few days off and they went and got hideously drunk off in Grove 12. I still have blackmail material from back then that I have yet to use."

"But no gift exchange?" Marco asked.

"No."

"No snow?"

"No."

"No tree?"

"No."

"No family? No feasting on homemade pies? No singing carols?"

"…No."

Marco was still for a little while, and then he smiled slowly, something soft and warm showing in his face. "Well, then, I think you're in dire need of a proper Christmas. If you can't enjoy the holidays with your family, how can you?" Ace just smiled.

* * *

><p>They had been originally heading for a port town on a summer island, but at Marco's insistent urging, they had shifted course, instead making for a winter island. In little more than a week, the air was already developing a chill that neither Ace nor Marco, being Fire-types, seemed to notice. It had gotten to the point where crewmembers had to occasionally run up to Ace and hug him just to warm up. He wasn't complaining, personally.<p>

It was dinnertime and it was obvious that Thatch was getting creative with the menu: he was including pies and cranberry sauces and even small toasted almonds that were halfway dipped in chocolate and patterned to look like tiny acorns. He had also taken the liberty of decorating most of the mess hall and turned it into… well, a dining room. There were candles everywhere (he'd made Ace light them, because it was annoying to go around and light them one by one and he just couldn't be arsed to do it himself, especially since the turkey for the casserole was teetering on the edge of 155 degrees internally and he didn't want it to be even the slightest bit overcooked, so he needed to keep an eye on it for several more minutes), garlands that Ace could only guess were remnants from prior years' celebrations, and beautifully framed photographs, each with small gifts placed beneath them.

Ace had asked about the photos.

"They're crewmates of ours. All of them died, whether by accident or something more violent," Marco had said quietly. "We figure, if we're going to get the family together, we should probably invite _everyone_." Ace had gone to light a stick of incense from his personal stores for each and every person, no longer just a face caged behind a glass pane.

It was finally Christmas Eve. Marco climbed atop the nearest table and motioned for everyone to quiet down and find a seat. Silence fell, apart from the soothing strum of Norma's harp from off to the left somewhere, and the jingling bells her brother Norm wore on his hip for the holiday season.

"Oyaji, the floor is yours," he said, jumping off the table. Whitebeard smiled at his son and stood to address the room.

"So! As you all may or may not have heard, this Christmas is a very special one." Cheers and whistled resounded. "Your good brother Ace here has not ever experienced a proper Christmas, let alone one such as we manage to put together every year. Shall we give a proper thank-you to those who have truly outdone themselves yet again?" The whole room turned to Thatch, Nick, and brunette Hannah, the masterminds of the decorations and planning, who had had their heads together, whispering details of their next holiday venture, but stood up to bow and acknowledge the thunderous applause. "Thank you, thank you, you guys. Wonderful job, if I may say so myself. You all understand, of course, why this Christmas must be not only our typical brand of splendid, but perfect? We have but one day a year to sit down and express our love for our family, both those who are but an arm's length away, and those who we cannot see, due to distance, time, or some unfathomable law of nature that cannot be rewritten. This love we all share spans those distances, long, short, or impassible, and reaffirms that part of us that is truly human, and caring creatures at that. Let these days be warm and bright, full of the kind of happiness and love that I know all my sons and daughters feel deep in their hearts. Let joy be all you know in your days to come. Thank you."

This time, instead of applause, every man and woman in the hall reached out and grasped the hands of their sworn family, touching foreheads and exchanging smiles. Ace could feel a shiver of something absolutely perfect resound in his bones. There really was nothing quite like being home with the people you loved for the holidays.

The crew was as voracious as usual and had devoured every edible scrap of dinner in under an hour, and then Thatch had brought out a massive gingerbread house (more like a sprawling gingerbread castle surrounded by a small gingerbread village) that took a little longer to utterly decimate. By that time, the food had all been washed down with a generous amount of alcohol, and there wasn't a soul (aside from Norma, who adored cider too much to stray from it) who wasn't inebriated enough to abandon their typical compunctions.

Ace really should have seen it coming, but Thatch draped himself across his shoulders and loudly begged him to sing something for the room, which others immediately seconded. No matter how good they told Ace he was, he just didn't hear it himself, and rarely sang in public unless he was either getting paid or horrendously drunk. This once, he figured, he could do Thatch a favour. He was family, after all.

Ace stood, and a few cheered like mad until he motioned for quiet.

"Hey, Norma?" he called.

"Mm-hm?" came the dreamy reply.

"Could you maybe… Schubert?"

"Of course, dear," she said, and the notes dripped through the air like ripples in a pond.

He took a deep breath and began.

_Ave Maria_

_Gratia plena_

_Dominus tecum_

_Benedicta tu in mulieribus_

_Et benedicta fructus ventris tui_

_Jesus_

_Sancta Maria_

_Sancta Maria_

_Maria_

_Mater dei_

_Ora pro nobis_

_Nobis pecatoribus_

_Nunc et in_

_Hora_

_In hora mortis nostrae_

_Amen_

_Amen_

Awed silence followed.

Selma stepped forward, motioning for him to begin again. He did, this time with her sweet soprano singing perfect counterpoint, the harmonies soaring above the crowd.

It only made it all the sweeter when the song ended and Joshua got down on one knee and asked Selma to marry him.

* * *

><p><em>Dear Luffy,<em>

_First off, Happy Christmas! I never used to realise just how important Christmas is. I mean, let's face it: it pretty much sucks on Mt. Corvo. I just had a proper Christmas, and I don't think I've ever felt that happy in my life. I want you to be here with me next time, even though I know you won't turn seventeen until a good five months after Christmas is over. Well, you can't have it all._

_I just want to let you know how much I love and miss you. I want you to stay warm and happy this winter, because I know damn well you're going to 'forget' to put on a coat and probably get frostbite somewhere uncomfortable. When you come out here, if we get a chance to celebrate Christmas together, we absolutely have to. I've picked up some new traditions we need to have. Most of them involve food, so am I correct in assuming I can count you in?_

_The Grand Line, for all the scary stories, is a beautiful place if you just sit back and let yourself enjoy it. I think I'm in love with the place. And the people. The only thing that could make it better is if you were here with me. Get older already!_

_See you in a year and a half._

_I love you more than the Sun, the moon, the earth, the sky, and the stars,_

_Ace_


	20. Day 60

Holy shit, 20th chapterrrrrrrr.

Happy Christmas, you guys! I love you all so much and I hope you had a marvellous holiday. I made out with some awesome loot and am high like nobody's business on sparkling apple cider. That stuff is to me what crack is to a druggie. Unhealthy obsession. But yeah.

Not a particularly funny chapter, but I like it well enough. I haven't written Namur in very much. Figured I ought to fix that. Also, when I start mentioning tightropes, I really have gone tightrope walking before. That's where it's coming from. Also, WARNING: PHYSICS. If simple formulae make you want to curl up in a ball and cry like a little girl... just skip the paragraph where it pops up. It's only the one. I promise.

Day 60

Ace was quite certain that it was a part of human nature to want to sniff out everything in the known world and understand it, or at least have some working knowledge of it.

When he was a baby, he had been told numerous times that he was an adventurous little bastard, somehow mysteriously getting out of any confinement with the ease of a practiced jailbird. He'd been found poking his head into quite literally _everything_ – from Dadan's undergarment drawers to crawling around on top of cabinets (and no, no-one ever figured out just how the hell he'd gotten up there), Ace explored anything his eyes lit upon. When he was a bit taller (and able to form somewhat-coherent sentences), he had gotten bored with the little cottage and decided that the vast forest full of ravenous, deadly beasts would be the best place to play _ever_. He blamed his un-myelinated frontal lobe for the severe lapse in common sense, but also his natural curiosity. Surely it wasn't just him, even though for others, perhaps their sense of self-preservation held them back? Surely it was something that was true of everyone. When he was old enough to understand that, why yes, there was a future, and yes, you need to plan for it, he had instantly thought of exploring. Anything to go out and see the world. The thing that drew him in the most, though, was the sea. It was such a vast, incredible thing that Ace could feel it pulling him in, demanding that he throw himself into its depths until he understood everything about it that ever was or ever would be. There were times when he wondered if that wasn't just his pirate's blood calling to him, giving him that love of the sea, but often that idea was rejected. He refused to believe that his failure of a father could influence him in any way whatsoever, instead philosophising and calling it "human nature", even at the tender age of seven-and-three-quarters.

It hadn't stopped there. Ace had found the Mera Mera Fruit in his first few weeks at sea, locking it away in a box he kept near him at all times. He refused to eat it at first, simply because he hadn't learned all he could about the sea. To suddenly find himself an unwelcome stranger and helpless in the very water that intrigued him so would be damn-well counterproductive in his humble opinion. So, Ace studied everything he could about the ocean until it didn't hold his attention quite so well any-more, and ate the damn fruit. The Devil Fruits themselves were a mystery, and Ace's curiosity had been more than he could bear any longer, anyway.

And so he had one last place to explore.

He had memorised the land and the ocean.

All that was left was the sky.

Ace's first attempt to fly with his powers was a drunken one. Bad decisions on everyone's part, really. They should have known better than to give Ace liquor, especially since he wasn't even legally allowed to drink yet. Predictably, Ace fell on his ass. Two more successive attempts had been made, with results worthy of blackmail-material-status. Suffice to say, Ace's pants had caught fire and jokes involving the placement of certain freckles were made.

Ace still thought that drunken-him had been on to something.

"Nobody wants to see you naked again, Ace," Marco said. "Except maybe ginger Hannah, but frankly, she's fuckin' nuts and therefore the outlier."

Ace shot him a glare. "I'd wear my fireproof pants, so you can just shut up about _that_. Point is, with balance and properly calculated thrust, this could seriously work! Drunk, your balance sucks, so it makes perfect sense that I'd completely tank at the time. This time, though, I've got a shot to do it right! You've got to admit, it could be damn cool," he said.

"To have flames working like propulsion to get you flying?" Marco scratched his stubble. "Eh, I guess so. Wings are cooler, though."

"Nuh-uh. Too mainstream," Ace said.

"God, you're such a… they need to make a word for people like you."

"They do. You've probably never heard of it, though."

In the end, Marco agreed to keep an eye on Ace's training and, if necessary, teach him the basics of flying. At Marco's urging, another watchful eye was enlisted: Namur the fishman and Commander of the Eighth Division.

Ace had been chucked bodily into the ocean a good many times. Probably upwards of twenty. Maybe thirty, if he felt like rounding up. Being a Devil Fruit user, this should have killed him thirty times over. The only reason it hadn't was because of Namur (and occasionally Thatch, when Namur was unavailable for whatever reasons).

"If you actually manage to get some air time – I still think it's unlikely, but not impossible – then you might accidentally come down over water by accident and it would be nice if you didn't die on us," Marco reasoned when Ace looked a little perturbed at the unexpected on-looker.

"Too much paperwork?" Ace asked.

"Exactly."

"Okay, okay. Hey, Namur, are you even okay with this?"

Namur threw him a grin. "I've fished you out a good many times, so I can hardly begrudge you a few more, especially if it means I may never have to come fetch you again. If you could fly, it would mean you could avoid water more easily and that means less work for me. Although you could always just give up on pissing off those who send you flying in the first place," he said.

"Haha, yeah, _no_. Nice try. You're funny," Ace said.

He shrugged. "Worth a try."

"Okay." Ace breathed deeply. "Considering my track record, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that folk should back up a few steps." Marco and Namur quickly complied, and the few others that were loitering about the deck got the hint and headed for makeshift fireproof shelters, or simply belowdecks. Miranda went to fetch Thatch, because she just knew he'd get a kick out of whatever was about to happen. That, and if Ace felt like going skyclad again, she'd need a bowl of popcorn to truly complete the mood.

Stationed on one of Marco's fireproof sheets and thankfully not the wooden deck, Ace slowly started building up heat in his bare feet. When they began to glow and the air around them began to pulse in the crowd's vision, Miranda returned with Thatch in tow, who promptly whipped out skewered marshmallows and attempted to get close enough to roast them.

Ace wasn't paying attention. He could feel the rapid expansion of the air that just barely there under the arch of his foot. He could feel a slight force pushing away from his feet entirely. That was no good. He frowned in concentration and tried to cool the tops of his feet. If the air above expanded as rapidly as the air below, an equal force would be exerted both up and down and he'd never get anywhere. The upward force had to exceed to downward force, and by more than the typical force exerted by gravity at sea level. Since he weighed about 72 kilograms and acceleration due to gravity was 9.80665 metres per second squared, the upward force would have to exceed 706.08 Newtons. Shit. Getting that much force just from his flame – and just from the bottoms of his feet, for that matter – was going to be a pain in his rear end, never even minding keeping it consistent and learning to accelerate upwards, downwards, or change direction in midair. This… was going to be annoying as all hell.

Screw physics. He was going to make it up as he went and hope things turned out for the best.

This did not turn out to be what Ace would term the most brilliant idea he'd ever had. Playing in the giant-bear/tiger-infested woods of Mt. Corvo was a better idea, and that was saying something. Ace's feet rocketed above him, spinning the rest of his body upside down and accidentally slamming him into the fireproof sheet he'd been standing on. He dissolved into flame and was completely unhurt, but… The laughing and cheering had been unexpected. And not entirely welcome.

The next few attempts did not go much better. His fourth try landed him in the water, and he was impossibly grateful for Namur's presence as he felt a cool, smooth arm close around his waist and haul him up to sweet, sweet _breathable_ air. One of the awesome things about Namur was that he always kept quiet about how tightly Ace held on to him whenever he got his ass landed in the ocean.

"You sure you want to keep going?" the fishman asked quietly.

Ace nodded. "Sorry."

"No, no. That's your business. If you want to keep going, there's no need to be sorry."

"Then I guess I'm just sorry for being a pain in the arse," Ace said.

"That is acceptable," Namur said with a grin.

Ace really, _really_ hated to lose at anything. Perhaps that was unclear. If he had been alone, out of the sight of anyone who might be able to judge him later, he might have given up at that point, or saved more practice for another day when he wasn't quite so accident-prone. But no, he had done it in public. There wasn't really another way _to_ do it. He had done it in public and people had laughed. The challenge had wordlessly been issued. He had accepted that challenge, and to decline later was to give up, and that was _unforgivable_. So Ace kept going, even when Marco gave him the "You smoked _ALL_ of it, didn't you?" face.

On the sixteenth try, he struck gold.

His balance must have magically been just right. Incidentally, he hadn't been paying attention, because Thatch had said something particularly offensive and dirty-minded, so Ace's posture had suddenly shifted… right as he absent-mindedly let off a massive burst of flame. He would be inclined to blame the brain damage if he'd actually suffered any physical damage. Psychological damage was another arena entirely, especially after what Thatch had been suggesting about Whitebeard and someone's mother. Just… ew.

To everyone's (including Ace's) amazement, he was hovering in midair, a good three metres above the deck. Staying up was proving the hard part. He felt like he was trying to walk on two separate tightropes at once, and was only faring slightly better than he had when he'd actually tried tightrope walking. Actually, he had never been able to balance longer than ten consecutive seconds on a tightrope, after letting go of the treebranch he'd used to steady himself.

…Wait.

Tree branch.

Hands.

Look straight ahead and not down.

Ace was a fucking idiot.

He had forgotten some of the most important rules of balancing. You always trusted your hands and head more than your legs and feet. Nothing below the ribcage was a precision instrument; trying to do something delicate with them (like attaining flight or balancing on a rope an inch in diameter) was like trying to do open-heart surgery with hedge-clippers. It was stupid, dangerous, and probably not going to be successful.

Ace released flames from the bottom of his palms to steady himself as best he good, head snapping up to look straight ahead. If he did this exactly like tightrope walking… He could do it. He'd been able to balance just fine when he'd had even the smallest twig from the tree branch in hand back then. He could do it with extra propulsion from both hands now.

Cut heat from one foot. Imagine a floor. Don't look down. Push off at an angle.

Go.

He hadn't even realised he was laughing. He hadn't realised how damn cool it all was. He was still laughing when he remembered that he had to get back down somehow and accidentally crashed into the deck again. He was grinning like a loon when Thatch and Marco both clapped him on the back in congratulations.

"Haha, you see? Gravity's a law after all!" Thatch said.

Ace tossed him that shit-eating grin. "I'm a pirate. Since when do I obey the law?"


	21. Days 27 and 28

If Ace is Irish or Scottish, Marco is a mix of Portuguese and English and Thatch is a mix of Swiss and French. Don't ask me where this shit comes from. It just does. Although I feel like Thatch would have a little Portuguese in him, too.

Day 27

Ace woke up to forts in the mess hall. Forts. Full-blown mother-fucking forts. Still not quite cognizant, he just stared at them awhile before understanding what the hell they were, and even so, the realisation raised a good many more questions than it answered.

He had promised himself a while ago that he was not going to get mixed up in the crew's craziness, and that he would avoid as much contact with them as was possible under the conditions. The only people he spoke to with any frequency were Marco and Thatch, and even then, most of the exchanges were short and prompted only by dire necessity. Was it worth asking? Did this count as dire necessity? People were moving about the deck, doing simple chores as usual, but there was something else, some underlying force that freaked the hell out of Ace. In all his time aboard the Moby Dick, he had been impressed (though you'd have to kill him to get him to admit it) by how close the crew clearly was. They called each other brother and sister and seemed perfectly amiable. Even the occasional conflict and fight was quickly sorted out. They were supportive and embracing of their own. But now….

Ace saw armbands on every single person that scuttled by. Red, blue, and yellow. Each colour would clap those of the matching colour on the back, tossing smiles their way, but when those of differing colours met, there were heated glares or noses in the air, or tiny sniffs of disdain and stiffened spines. Each seemed to lay claim to their particular fort within the mess hall, separated by walls constructed of chairs, barrels, blankets, and whatever else had been lying around. One table had been tipped on its side as a deterrent for trespassers. Yeah. He'd say this probably qualified as dire necessity. He was going to have to ask someone just what the fuck was going on today.

Ace had never been more grateful to see the First Division Commander in his life. He and Thatch were eating breakfast on the deck instead of in the mess hall, and Ace couldn't see any discernible armbands.

He took a deep breath, approaching them. "Hey, er, I know it might not be my place to ask this, but-"

"What the hell is going on?" Marco supplied. Ace nodded. Marco scratched an ear, exchanging glances with the chef sitting on the barrel next to him. "What do you know about psychology and what the experts might term the Horse's Mouth Fallacy?"

"Er… Haven't the slightest."

"Thing is, when we speak in metaphors or whatever, even if it's a complete untruth, we start to believe it ourselves. Say something out loud yourself, and it suddenly becomes something closer to the truth in your own mind. It's like brainwashing yourself."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Ace asked crossly.

Marco sighed again. "Everything. Everybody on this ship calls themselves Oyaji's children. So, naturally, everybody thinks they have a carte blanche to act like children. Every few months, the sleeping halls gang up on each other over some stupid debate as to which is better." The Moby Dick was a large ship, so there were multiple, spread-out rooms in which the crew split up to sleep on varying levels so that no matter what time of night it might be, any problem would be easy to reach. That way, even if something happened to one of the sleeping areas, the two-thirds of the crew that remained unaffected could come to the rescue of the other third. That, and there simply was not any single room that could house every crew member for the night, excluding the Commanders, who each had separate cabins on the second deck. "Everybody has to pick a side. Except me. I've got subordinates in all three sleeping halls, so I can't possibly pick a side, not that I want to. Childish bunk, the lot of it." He piled about five slices of bacon from his plate onto a slice of bread and bit in, stuffing in some brown-sugar ham at the last minute, almost as an afterthought.

"I don't pick a side, either. You can't make me," said Thatch, shaking his head violently. "Never."

Ace shot Thatch a questioning look, but after getting only a fearful silence in response, he turned to Marco.

"Thatch is the oldest of nine siblings. He's not the world's biggest fan of disputes like this."

"Me, Thairlyn, Theresa, Trafalgar, Tremaine, Tia, Thalia, Thames, and Catarina."

"Catarina?"

"She was from a previous marriage," Thatch muttered. "You ever lived in a dorm?" he asked suddenly.

"Er… No," Ace said.

"I did. Me 'n' Thairlyn. Went to cooking school together. So… much… hatred. In one little place. Rivalry tears you apart," he whispered. "Don't give in to it! Don't accept that 3rd floor is retarded, that 4th floor is full of jocks, or that 5th floor is full of snobbish super-nerds just because your hallmates on the 2nd floor tell you so! It isn't true! Stop the haaaaaaate…" he murmured, then sank into his mug.

"He's a little hungover from last night. Also, I imagine there's something about Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in there, somewhere," Marco said.

"Right…" Ace said.

"But there you have it," Marco said. "Insanity at its finest. Humans are inclined towards competition, and if there's no-one around to compete with besides your friends… Well, you ought to know how that goes. I expect it to come to a head soon. If a massive fight or competition or something breaks out, a little professional advice? Get out of their way. Run like hell. There's nothing else for it. I like to leave them to their own devices so that they manage to do something really quite extraordinarily stupid – it acts as a good deterrent for the next time they think all this might be a good idea. Thatch just doesn't want to be forced to judge anything or pick sides. He was the oldest, with two brothers and six sisters, so you can just imagine what a hell it must have been to judge any disputes amongst them."

"Ohhhhh," Thatch moaned, lost in memories. "Thames kept taking Tia's things without telling her… Catarina and Theresa would gang up on poor Trafalgar and take his snacks when he wasn't looking… Tremaine thought they were all a bunch of idiots and yelled at everyone… And then they'd get mad at me whenever I made a definitive decision! They yelled at me for picking sides! Thalia's voice is so damn shrill… Just like her mother. God help us all…" Thatch mumbled, still from within his mug, his voice hollow and dead. "Hey, can we not talk about this? _Ever again,_ please?"

Ace took that as his cue to leave. The whole crew really was fucking crazy. Marco seemed sensible, but he had to be just as mad as they were just for being willing to put up with the lot of them.

* * *

><p><span>Day 28<span>

It was the next day that everything did indeed come to a head, as Marco had predicted. At breakfast, things had been very tense, each group in their separate fort, but it hadn't been until lunch that people finally had had enough and just decided to bugger it all and begin a fight the likes of which the world had never seen.

A food fight, to be exact.

Ace had grabbed a sandwich, two carrots, and a ladle full of mashed potatoes all but drowned in gravy (he still didn't feel comfortable taking too much food, but this, a small, manageable amount was the absolute minimum he could bring himself to eat come mealtimes) and was heading back to the stairs to get to the deck where it wouldn't be quite to oppressive an atmosphere when it broke out. He had just turned to leave when the pork chop came sailing towards his face.

All he had time to say was, "Awww, _**HELL**_ no."

He dodged the pork chop, but Simcoe, who'd been behind him in line, wasn't quite so lucky. Poor Phil seemed to be having a coronary, watching the food from his kitchens be put to such a use.

Ace covered his own food with his body, crouching. He dove under the first table he could find, then quickly tipped it over to provide rudimentary cover from enemy fire.

"Quick! Ace!" hissed a voice from over to his right. He leaned over to see Haruta hidden behind the boundaries of the fort for the Blue side of the war. He took a leap of faith (more like a lunge, really) and threw himself in that direction. She yanked him to safety just as a rain of ketchup splattered the ground where he'd been hiding.

"What were you doing out there in No Man's Land? Do you _want_ to die?"

Ace gave her the 'You're Fucking Crazy' face. "I just wanted to eat. I'm not even fucking _involved_."

"Well, you are now, big guy. Congratulations. Now pick your targets and fire at will," Haruta said, scurrying away to command her 'troops'. Ace just stared at nothing (well, more like staring at the puddle of sake that was dripping from a tabletop) and wondered what the hell he'd done to land himself in the middle of all of this. He figured he must have pissed off someone very important upstairs. Then, a member of the Red Team tried to invade with broccoli. Ace smushed mashed potatoes in the man's face and promptly decided he no longer cared what was sane.

* * *

><p>Ace had pudding in his hair, some soup all over one shoulder, and three ice cubes had at one point been shoved down his pants by an unknown adversary. All in all, not bad. Haruta had awarded him an honorary Blue Team armband, even though he wasn't technically in their sleeping hall (or even their crew). All the madness had ended and the Team Captains had shook sticky hands and agreed to help clean up in the face of Whitebeard's angered growls. He'd never gotten to wear the armband officially, but he still tucked it away in his things, smiling softly to himself all the while.<p>

He'd never gotten into such a massive food fight before. It was fun as hell. It didn't matter if you were soaked head to foot in condiments; you would find yourself laughing and having a marvellous time. It was also wonderful to be part of a team, even as unofficial and ridiculous as that team might have been. He'd missed being a part of something bigger. He used to be Captain of the Spade Pirates, but now… Ace had been wondering just what his team, if it could be called that, was. He used to think he knew, but now there were new questions.

Who was on his side?

Who was on his team?

Although maybe… Maybe that was something to consider later, after he'd gotten the congealing pudding out of his hair.

* * *

><p>(AN): Good God, I remember this shit. Food fights in high school. Best ever. YOU HUNKERED DOWN LIKE A WWI SOLDIER IN THE TRENCHES, DAMN IT. And ten minutes later, you would pretend like nothing happened. So much fun.

I feel bad for Thatch. Seven of his siblings are more than ten years younger than him. Had to suck. And poor Catarina. She will never fit in.

EDIT: HOSHIT I DIDN'T MEAN FOR TRAFALGAR TO BE TRAFALGAR LAW. Goodness gracious. Shiary pointed it out and I about had an epileptic fit. They are most definitely NOT the same person. Thatch is not related to Law in any way, shape, or form. They don't look a thing alike, and even _I_ can't make a leap _that_ big.


	22. August 1st and 2nd Part One

I officially have 40 original characters in this one fic alone. Well, they're all filler, anyway. Name them all for candy and New Years' booze! Haha, you're screwed. If you find all 40, you are seriously God.

For those who are curious, Ace arrived on Whitebeard's ship on the 20th of February and by my calculations (assuming it wasn't a leap year), the 100th day was the 30th of May. Just to put it all in perspective.

The Week of August 1st – 8th

"I shouldn't have to explain why we're here," Marco said gravely. Ace and the rest of Second Division nodded silently. "As you've heard, the naval forces of the Independent Republic of Ryalos captured four of our brothers from Twelfth Division and decided that no trial was needed. They executed our brothers two days after their capture, buried them in unmarked graves, and hoped we somehow wouldn't hear about it." Every face was dark, angry. A pulsing fury, running alongside a bitter sadness, permeated the darkened room. Marco cracked an almost-imperceptible smile. "Maybe next time they attack our family, they should avoid going after the Intelligence Division. We received communication from three of the four guys the day before they were killed, and from the single escapee."

"Isn't it our job to make sure there is no 'next time' for these guys?" Ace asked. There was a great deal of nodding in agreement and threatening murmurs.

Marco nodded. "Ryalos should really rethink their justice system. Not that there's going to be anything left after we're done with them, so a justice system is hardly going to matter. Which is where we're going to need you." Marco's smacked the illuminated wall behind him with the back of his hand. On it, there was a projected diagram of a octagonal building. "This," he said, "is one of the naval outposts we're going to need taken out before the First, Third, Fifth, Ninth, Thirteenth, and Sixteenth Divisions come in, swinging the hammer. You guys are Second Division and our advance guard, so this sort of stuff falls to you guys. I know we don't have a Commander for Second Division, so your orders will be coming from me, as usual. Some of Twelfth Division might come along for the ride, so try and keep them from going completely berserk. In other words," he grinned, "leave some for the rest of us, if you please."

Ace smiled darkly. "No promises, boss-man."

* * *

><p>"Hey, you."<p>

"Hm?" Ace looked up from the five or six sandwiches he was trying to hide in the various pockets of his cargo pants. Before him was a very overweight, very tanned man missing some teeth… and apparently, a hairbrush. "Who're you?" he asked.

"Second Division. Marshall D. Teach. Sorry we ain't met before. You been with us a while? I only just got in from one long-ass posting, so sorry if I don't remember you."

Ace smiled, brightening instantly. "Second Division, as you might've guessed. Portgas D. Ace. Pleasure to meet you." They shook hands and Ace returned to shoving sandwiches in his pockets. "I've been here since late February, truth be told."

"Good Lord! That long, eh?"

"Yeah. Took a few months and more than a few cracks to the head to get me to properly join up, though," he said sheepishly, jabbing a free thumb at his own back.

"That sounds like a hell of a story," Teach said, sitting down next to Ace.

"You have no idea," Ace muttered.

"But hey, listen. I heard you talking to Marco in there. You guys friendly?"

"Yeah. He was sweet something awful back when I was being a douche-canoe. Well, him and Thatch."

"Did you know those guys from Twelfth Division, too?" Teach asked.

"Not really," Ace said. "They had outposts. I think they dropped by once or twice for reporting to Haruta, but… we never really got around to talking. Why?"

"Well," Teach said, taking a massive swig of whatever was in his tankard (probably alcoholic, by the smell), "you sounded pretty damn fired up over it."

"I am," Ace said. "Even if I didn't know them, they're still a part of my crew. And even if they weren't part of my crew, they got no justice. No consideration. No respect. All human lif– no, all _life_ deserves respect. Ryalos just fuckin' spat on everything that justice is, and then had the nerve to… I just really want to fuck 'em up," he said. He drank from his own cup like he was dying of thirst. "Is that weird?"

"Nah. Plenty of weirder reasons to go to war. I like you, kid. You're all right."

"Eh, I try," he said with a smile. "If I succeed, it's only because God has a worse fate in store for me later."

Teach laughed long and hard, clapping Ace on the back with a hand the size of a stockpot lid. From there the conversation devolved into favourite foods, stories of Thatch's innumerable pranks on Marco, women, and eventually a belching competition, each rating the other on a scale from one to ten, neither ever scoring higher than an 8-point-2, when tiny, shy, brunette, elfin Hannah walked over and delivered a perfect 10, ending the morning on a high note.

* * *

><p>There were ten members of Second Division (Ace, Teach, Nick, James, Willoughby, Henri de Misct III, Haddock, Samuel, Taborri, and Lionel) and five members of the Twelfth Division (Norm &amp; Norma, Jonah, Lauro, and Richard) present. Ace had been put in charge of the Second Division members as well as the raid itself. Norma was up next in the chain of command and controlled the members from Twelfth Division. Ace had been given full artistic liberty with this one, and he wanted to make it memorable. Flashy. He knew the Primacy Effect and the Recency Effect very well: people's minds tended to remember the first thing and the last thing, and not too much of whatever was in the middle. His mission was the first to strike, and he wanted it to really earn its place in the memories of the survivors. He wanted tales of this day to be whispered fearfully in dark alleys by drunkards who were warning others of the dangers of crossing the Whitebeard Pirates, terror in their eyes as they relived a horror no man could easily brush away. Okay. Perhaps that was a little much. There was very little he could do to bring peace to the souls of the dead, but he could uphold Oyaji's name, and damn if he wouldn't die trying. The very least he could do was cause a bit of a ruckus. Marco never said anything about subtlety.<p>

"Where's Jonah?" he asked after a quick headcount.

Norma piped up. "We've been keeping eyes on the command relay for the central tower. It's Jonah's watch right now and leaving the post is… unwise."

He nodded. "All right. Norma, if you could bring him up to speed later, that would be great. You don't by any chance have intel on the lower levels?"

Richard pulled forth some crumpled papers from the inside of his jacket. "Er, I have that here. I've been assigned to the lower levels and have observed them all day. What did you need?"

"Where are the kitchens?"

"Here." Richard fished out a paper with a series of maps on it, pointing at the uppermost corner of the central diagram.

"Now, I don't suppose they happen to have their flour in barrels or crates, do they?" Every member of Twelfth Division and a few from Second Division exchanged feral grins.

"Er, have I missed something?" Teach asked.

"Not really. My plan's pretty damn simple if you think about it, but it still is going to require some interesting legwork. Nick, Norma, and Jonah I need around the barracks, and here's what you'll need to do…"

* * *

><p>Nick adjusted the cloth over his nose and mouth to mask his breathing. It was very late at night, damn near morning, and while no-one on a military schedule would be awake at this hour of night, it really was better safe than executed. Or however the saying actually went.<p>

He had been assigned to the northernmost barracks on the ground floor. Norma had taken the second floor and Jonah the third, where most of the top brass and high-ranking officers slept.

He carefully opened the pouch at his shoulder as he gazed warily at the big stainless steel doors before him that lead to the sleeping area. He shook his head quietly. He really thought that military men would know better. He carefully pulled out six wooden wedges, securing them at the bottom of the massive twin doors, then placing a metal rod between the handles. Then he extracted a makeshift taser (Lord only knew how or when Ace had managed to create it) and wound the wires around the steel handles.

"_Listen," Ace said, "these little bastards have four settings: Off, On, Let's Do This, and Thor God of Thunder. The last setting will knock the scariest of navy fuckers out for a good fifteen minutes at least. If I had more time to work on them, they'd be able to get up enough voltage to kill somebody, but it's the best I can do under the circumstances. If the doors really are metal all the way through, or at least if the metal touches all the other metal parts, just winding the wires around the handles should be enough to stop anyone attempting to open the doors. They swing in, and while that's a bit of a problem, it does at least prevent the battering-ram approach. Unfortunately, anybody who's got any access to rubber gloves might be able to take the pins out of the door hinges and screw the pooch. Bad luck. Regardless, it should take them a good ten or twenty minutes to figure that one out, especially if their smart guys keep accidentally shocking themselves comatose. That ought to be more than enough time to get to all the fun shit."_

Honestly, Ace had a disturbing side to him sometimes.

Nick cranked the dial up to the setting described as "Thor, God of Thunder" and quickly drew back as the device crackled to life. Luckily, no-one from within seemed to stir, or if they did, they were shocked into silence once more upon their further inquiry.

He fastened the pouch again and made it back to the rendezvous point.

He gave Ace a quick thumbs-up to denote the completed mission and Ace granted him a radiant (but still quite unsettling) smile. Jonah was already there and Norma arrived just moments after Nick did.

"Successes all around, then?"

"Ever so," Norma said, flipping her hair. "Your taser demon-thing nearly scared me shitless, though. Those things are loud."

Ace frowned. "Nobody woke up, did they?"

"Well, no," she admitted.

"Then it's not a problem. Anyway, Richard, Lauro, and Norm have already taken the liberty of relocating the flour. Taborri, Lionel, Henri, and James are already in position as well – they just called in." He waved a baby Den-Den Mushi to illustrate. His grin, if possible, grew wider. "What do you say we make some governmental officials shit their pants?"

* * *

><p>(AN): Yes, I'm straying out of my allotted 100 Days. Maybe I should have made a different fic for this short series of chapters I'm going to be doing. But really, this fic is becoming my "All-Things-Whitebeard-Pirates" fic and I don't think anybody's complaining.

I haven't written Teach yet, and I want to make him really hate-able. Then, at the same time, Ace liked him at first, and for Ace to like him, I figure he had to be a pretty decent-seeming fellow at first. I still wanted to make him annoying as fuck, so I tried to make him American. Oh, unfair stereotypes, how I do take full advantage of you.


	23. August 1st and 2nd Part Two

I don't know why I wrote about all this happening on my birthday. Weird.

August 2nd

Taborri, Lionel, Henri, and James were perched on the roof when they got the signal from Ace to begin. Taborri yanked the crumpled paper out of her pouch while Henri pulled out what resembled a miniature loudspeaker.

"And-and you're saying we have to say it all at once?" Lionel asked, biting his lips from nerves.

"Yeah," Taborri said. "Ace seems to think a whole bunch of voices all at once scares the shit out of people, especially when they're all different vocal ranges. I'm a soprano, you're an alto, Henri's an tenor, and James is a bass. Figure that ought to do it. Think you can handle a menacing voice, or are you going to wet your pants and knock your knees 'til the whole thing's over with?"

Lionel shot her a weak glare. "I'm not scared! Nerves and fear are two entirely different things. Just because you're dumb enough to run into fire doesn't mean I am."

"You know, with the proper amount of force, one of those barrels of flour can fit right up your-"

"This is not the time," James said.

"I've got it set up. We just need to turn it on," Henri said.

"Okay. Ready?"

"Ready."

"Ready."

"R-Ready."

Henri held up three fingers. "On the count of three," he whispered. "One…" One finger went down. "Two…" Another. "Three." He switched the loudspeaker on and began moving his fingers as though he were conducting an orchestra to ensure their vocal unity.

As one, the four Second Division Members began. "You, who call yourselves the justice of Ryalos," they boomed.

In the rooms below, the top brass of Ryalos's naval forces awoke with a terrified start.

"Hypocrites and liars such as we have found within your walls must be eradicated, or else shall we suffer the tarnished name of justice for all time. You have offended not only your profession, but your humanity itself. Such beings need not exist. However, such existences are unavoidable. In such situations, upon encountering such individuals, we ask only that you accept full responsibility for your actions and consequently understand their severity."

There were frightened cries and angry yells below, raging in a mass panic of confusion. None of the four dared stop for anything, though.

"We, in our magnanimity, have granted you three minutes to vacate the premises, at which time we will rain down the fires of hell upon your heads. We have but one word of advice to grant you: Run." And with that, Henri switched it off. He and Taborri smiled at each other, hearing the panic below intensify.

Someone was yelling that it was an empty threat and for everyone to go back to bed. Well, they couldn't have that, now could they?

James pulled out a baby Den-Den Mushi from his pouch, only a mildly interested look on his face. "Ace? The top level? The northernmost one, please."

Below them, there was thunderous explosion, white smoke billowing out of the windows alongside deafening screams. James's face was serene and clearly very pleased.

"Did-didn't we say we'd w-wait until three minutes had passed before doing anything?" Lionel asked.

"First rule of the seas, dear," Taborri said. "Pirates lie."

"Sometimes just for the sake of keeping in practice," James added.

* * *

><p>Below, chaos raged.<p>

"EVERYONE, TRY TO REMAIN CALM!"

"EVACUATE IN AN ORDERLY MANNER!"

"PLEASE, NO RUNNING!"

But what few voices of reason there were, were inevitably drowned out by the screams and yells of "Oh, God, get me out of here!" and "Save me first; I'm important!" and other such nonsense. Officials were tripping over each other and shouting themselves hoarse, piling up in the doorway, each trying to thrust the others out of their way. When the dam constructed of men of ponderous bulk finally broke, they tripped repeatedly as they ran down the hallway to the nearest elevator, which had naturally been made inoperable by Willoughby, who was in charge of keeping eyes on this floor, now that Ace's carefully crafted chaos had broken loose.

Willoughby couldn't help but laugh his ass off at the sight of the rotund men attempting the stairwell, gripping the railing like it was the only thing keeping them from tripping over their own flab. Likely, it was. Once most of the men were clear of the sleeping quarters, he switched on the baby Den-Den Mushi he'd been issued.

"Yo, Ace. The one at the door for the third floor is clear."

Ace didn't reply. He didn't have to. The second explosion of the night was answer enough.

"_Now, I know some of you probably don't know why the hell I'm asking about flour," Ace said. There were some nods, all from Second Division members. "Marco came to me once asking about how he could avoid disaster when transporting supplies for the ship. See, once, he accidentally ignited a barrel of flour and blew his whole dinghy straight to hell. As it turns out, flour under pressure is extremely explosive. Some legitimate bombs don't even measure up. Not to mention, if somebody happens to come across a barrel of flour in the middle of the night, how many of them are going to think of a terrorist attack right away? Flour is the poor man's bomb. Just call me up and let me know when it's okay to set each one off. Luckily, I'm the best remote detonator there is."_

The men had abandoned their efforts to get the elevator open and were falling over themselves trying to get down the stairs.

"Last one on the third floor," Willoughby reported. Another explosion, this time by the elevators. Slowly but surely, the officials were all being herded down to the lowest level, and eventually out into the open where the real fun could begin. This was going to be a thing of beauty.

* * *

><p>Ace could just barely make out the faint screams of fright from two levels up. He was grinning from ear to ear.<p>

"I take it that smile means good things?" Norma asked.

"It might," he said. "Nothing's gone glaringly wrong _yet_."

Famous last words. He should have known better. The Den-Den Mushi in his hand stood at attention. "Ace!" cried a slightly panicked voice.

"Yeah! Haddock, that you?"

"Yeah," he said. "The first level's barracks are seeing some activity I'm not comfortable with! I think they're already trying to get the hinges off!"

"Shit," Ace growled. He snapped his fingers, eyes trained on the exact position marked on the map where another barrel of flour had been placed. The resounding explosion told him his aim was perfect. "Listen, Haddock? Do not let the bastards go at it again! If you see it happening, call right away. If they get out before they're supposed to, they could help their higher-ups get away and muddy our playing field. The small-fries we're saving for Marco, remember? I'm going to hand the main emergency line off to Norma here and I'm going to keep eyes on the back exit with Thatch just in case. Only call me for the detonations, got it?"

"Yes, sir!" Haddock signed off.

"Norma, I need you to meet up with Marco in about ten minutes. He's supposed to be coming in the main gates up there. When he's here and _only when he's here_, let me know so I can blow the barrack doors. Also, when I give you a call next, I need you to send out a mass message for everyone to get their asses down here to take out the targets," Ace said.

"Understood," she said, saluting.

"Thanks. You are a lifesaver!" He jumped into a fast jog around the building and out of sight.

"That man's been waiting to do something like this his whole life, I think," Jonah muttered.

"It wouldn't surprise me. One thing to be said, though," she said. "It sure seems like his planning hasn't gone to waste."

It didn't take Ace more than a minute or two to get around to the back entrance where Teach was already stationed.

"Anything?" he asked.

"Not a peep," Teach said. "Something amiss? I thought you said you were going to be out front?"

He shook his head. "That was the original plan, but the first floor guys were smarter than I thought. They haven't broken loose yet, but if they do, I expect you'll need backup."

Teach paled. "Yeah, I might. You might not have noticed, but I'm far from the strongest guy in Second Division. I might've been with Oyaji a while, but that doesn't really mean much. Plus, I'm not even an Akuma no Mi user, so… Yeah."

"Eh, don't worry about it," Ace said. "Between you 'n' me, we've got this covered."

"Sorry I'm so fuckin' useless."

"Aww, don't say that. I'm sure you're a formidable bloke in your own right."

"A formidable what now?"

The back door, a formerly unobtrusive thing, burst open. Teach jumped a foot in the air. Ace had the person by the shoulders and slammed into the stone wall before he could blink.

"And just what do you think you're doing?" he asked, voice deadly cold.

"Please! Please, let me go!" the man cried.

"And why would I do a thing like that?"

"I'm not from here! Please, I don't work for the navy!" His clothes were very poor quality, and certainly not anything resembling a uniform. He seemed to be telling the truth. Ace only eased up the tiniest bit.

"Then what are you doing here at this time of night?"

"My-my son! They took my son for the Young Navy regiment! I was trying to free him, but I can't find him. I was going to get help. If the fires keep going, and I still can't find my son, he'll die! If I can put the fires out, there'll be more time to search," he whimpered.

"How old is your son?" Ace asked.

"He's five, sir. Please, let me go!"

"His name?"

"Dryden."

"What floor is this thing on?"

"The bottom one!"

Ace exchanged looks with Teach, releasing the terrified man instantly. The man ran for the town that was just over the hill as soon as he was able.

"Sorry about this," Ace said.

"Oh, no. You're not leaving me out here alone," Teach said. "I'm going with you."

"But then who will guard the-"

"Lauro's closest. Give him a call. He can cover for us."

Ace quickly did so. "All right. Let's go."

Ace ran a good bit quicker than Teach did, probably because the older man could stand to lose about a hundred and fifty pounds. He could also be damn loud when he wanted to be, which was useful when calling for lost children.

"DRYDEEEEEEEEN!" Ace bellowed at the top of his lungs. "ARE YOU HERE? YELL IF YOU CAN HEAR ME!"

It took them around five minutes for the voices of yelling children to reach them. They found the small basement in which the children had been kept easily enough after that.

"Why couldn't he find this place?" Teach asked.

"We only found it by yelling," Ace said. "That man probably didn't want to wake anybody up and therefore couldn't yell. So, all of you guys, I need you to get out of here as fast as you can, all right?" Five small heads all nodded at him seriously. "Do you all remember the way out the back door?" More nodding. "Good! Go!"

"But, Mister Pirate!" one boy protested as the others fled. "Danny's still in the Bad Room!"

"_Fuck_! Where is the Bad Room?"

The child just pointed to the darkest corner of the room, where Ace could just make out a door to what might have been a closet.

"It's okay. I've got it. Go on, okay?"

"You're going to save Danny, too?"

"Yes, yes, now go!" The boy did, and Ace lit a fist to light up the room as best he could. It appeared that there was a heavy lock on the door to the 'Bad Room'. He yanked out a small packet from the pouch on his pant leg and withdrew a set of lock picks. All of a sudden, the ceiling above him groaned.

"Oh God damn it, God damn it, God damn it," he whispered around the picks in his mouth. "Not now."

"Ace, what the hell is going on?" Teach asked warily.

"Got it!" he cried triumphantly, ripping the padlock off the door and throwing it open.

Unfortunately, at that moment, the ceiling collapsed.

* * *

><p>(AN): I like cliffhangers. Have you noticed? I don't think I'll be updating tomorrow, because I have a whole lot of shit to do for a dinner party. I'll get as much done as I can tonight so that there might be a slight chance of an update, anyway.

Hope you're having a wonderful New Years' Eve! Don't drink and drive, remember!


	24. August 1st and 2nd Part Three

August 2nd

Ace's first thought had been for the child who came tottering out of the closet. He covered the boy with his body as best he could, barely feeling the wooden beams slam into his spine in his preoccupation with that one mission. Caught in a strange state of complete numbness, he didn't realise it was over until about a minute after the crashing stopped.

"Are you okay?" he asked the boy in his arms.

The child coughed, probably from all the dust in the air. "Yeah, I'm okay," he whispered hoarsely.

"That's good," he said. "Hey, Teach, are you dead?"

"Dunno. Lemme check," Teach groaned from a few feet away.

Ace shifted his back, just to see if he could, and was pleased to find that the wooden beams were actually rather light. There also weren't that many of them. Most had fallen in such a way that they supported each other just barely, crunched into odd angles by the weight of the stone building above them. As such, it formed a small pocket of relatively free space.

"Is the staircase clear?" he asked. He could hear the clattering of more wooden beams falling to the ground, most likely from Teach shuffling about even though he couldn't see the man.

"Sorry, Ace. It's mostly blocked up."

"Mostly?"

"There's a really small gap up towards the top. There's no way we can fit through there. You might not have noticed, but I'm a tubby bastard."

"How small is 'really small'?" Ace asked, a thought forming.

Teach's voice paused. "Eh, I dunno. Bigger than a breadbox? What do you want from me, the damn thing's circumference?"

"Could a kid fit through?"

"Maybe, yeah."

Ace pulled back, trying to look the child in the eye even though the room was almost pitch-dark. "Hey, Danny? That's your name, right?" He could feel the boy nodding. "Listen, Danny. I need you to climb out of here if you can. It might be hard to find your way around in the dark, but you're the only one who might be able to get free. Can you do that for me?"

"But… but what about you guys?" Danny sniffled.

"We'll be fine. Go."

Ace could hear the boy clamber over various fallen beams and stumble a few times, and eventually, there were no sounds other than his and Teach's muted breathing.

Teach made an undignified snort. "The hell we'll be fine! You shouldn't have lied to the brat."

"And what would that have accomplished? There's no need to scare the poor kid. He's got his hands full as it is; why bother adding to the load? Besides, what could he have done to fix this?"

"Hmph. I guess," Teach said. "But hey, why can't you just leave?"

"Huh?"

"You're a Fire Logia, right? Well then, you should be able to just turn into flame and get through the opening just as easily as that kid could!"

"Well, yeah… But I can't."

"Why the fuck not?"

Ace breathed deeply and sighed. "We're surrounded by wood. Wood catches fire."

"But you're fuckin' fireproof!" Teach protested.

"But _you're_ not."

Teach was silent for a while. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. "If we both die just because you're worried about me, I'm gonna kick your ass in the next world."

* * *

><p>Norma luckily had very little left to command after Ace left. Each time a bomb was called for, Ace had faithfully set them off, and once the very last bombs were detonated, Ace had given her the quick message to bring everybody in the advance guard to the front entrance, where the naval officials had been successfully herded. She wasn't sure why Ace hadn't arrived himself, since he hadn't reported any activity at the back entrance, but then, she imagined he could take care of himself just fine.<p>

But good Lord, the look on their faces when the men found out they were trapped. Fuckin' priceless. She fondly wished she could have a photograph blown up and framed. So worth it.

She purposely pulled the collar of her blouse a little lower to fully expose the tattoo that marked her as one of Whitebeard's crew as she strode forward.

"Hello, my dears. Having issues?" she asked sweetly.

"Devil woman, what is the meaning of this?" cried one of the Vice Admirals.

"Oh dear," she murmured. "I knew you were assholes, but I didn't think you were stupid as well. How disappointing. Well, vengeance is vengeance. You bumbling idiots, you poor excuses for human beings, you wasters of perfectly good diatomic oxygen – you've badly offended some folk who don't take it as a kindness that you've executed a few of their brothers."

"Criminals," scoffed one man. "What are ten men and two _women_ going to do against all of us?"

She smiled. "My dears, I thought I made it quite plain. We're going to beat you until your skins won't hold water. If you're lucky, we might kill you first." The declaration was met with the occasional bold scoffing, but the body language of the officials present showed just how seriously they took her threat. "However! Since I am just the sweetest of sweet things, I'm going to give you a way out. If you can recite the names of all four men you killed, I will let you live."

There was nothing. No movement. No speech. All eyes were locked on Norma.

"No-one can tell me?"

Silence.

"Well, then," she said. "Let's go, boys."

It was depressing how quickly it was over. There had easily been thirty men comprising the enemy, but it seemed none of them had earned their post through valid skill.

"Nepotism," Norm commented, seeing the look on his sister's face. "That's my guess."

"I don't doubt it for a minute," she said. The lieutenant trying to worm his way out of her vice-like grip got a bullet to the back of the knee for his troubles, dropping to the ground and wailing like an infant.

"Now, that was a bit heartless."

"Note that I didn't kill him. I'd say I've been more than merciful."

A loud _ehem_ resounded a few metres away. Every member of the advance guard (except for Samuel and Jonah, who were still busy trying to wrestle a monkey-type Zoan to the ground) froze.

"Have we missed all the good bits?" Marco asked blithely. Whitebeard stood just in front of him, and the entirety of the First, Third, Fifth, Ninth, Thirteenth, and Sixteenth Divisions stood just behind _them_. Norma just grinned wolfishly.

"Heavens no, Taichou. There are two whole companies in there that might be willing to play with you. We might've taken the best bit, perhaps, but you never said we couldn't."

Marco shook his head. "You're all mad."

"We didn't kill them! Just roughed 'em up a wee bit."

"_A wee bit_?" cried one of the men upon whom James was sitting. "You've got to be kidding m-" A swift kick from the nearby Haddock shut him up.

A loud crash from the inner halls of the fortress sounded, followed by triumphant yelling. The men of the barracks on the first floor had broken free.

"The stage is yours, Oyaji," Norma said respectfully, backing away from their targets. The other eleven did the same.

"Well, then," Whitebeard boomed, "I'd like to meet the men who condemned my sons to death."

* * *

><p>Marco knew that Oyaji would want to take care of as much as he could personally. It was, after all, revenge for the deaths of his dear sons, and to let someone else take revenge for you was just plain blasphemy. So, instead of jumping into the fray where he wasn't going to do too much good, he took the skies instead, looking for good tactical openings. He also needed to ensure that no-one escaped, and in bird-form, it was easy to locate runaways, swoop down, and make them all settle down for a little involuntary nap.<p>

It was only because of his excellent positioning that he saw the boy.

He couldn't have been older than six, and what drew Marco's eye to him was not his age, but the direction in which he moved: he was heading _into_ battle. Why would a _child_, of all people, not only be _on_ a naval outpost, but also want to be in the midst of a small war? Marco flew down to meet the child. Maybe he could convince him to turn back.

"Yo, kid!" he bellowed. "What the hell are you doing out here?"

The boy faltered, looking up at the flaming blue bird that appeared to be talking to him. Marco took notice and transformed back to normal, dropping down in front of him.

"Listen, kid, this isn't a safe place to be right now. You've got to turn back."

"No!" the boy blurted.

"Huh?"

"The Nice Mister Pirates are stuck! They need help! Somebody's gotta help, please!"

"The Nice Mister…" Marco murmured, not getting it. Suddenly, it clicked. He had wondered why only twelve of the original fifteen of the advance guard had been there to meet them. Ace had gone off on his own again and brought two others along for the ride. "All right kid, where are they?"

"Way down in the basement! We've gotta hurry – they can't get out!"

"Don't worry, kid. I've got this."

* * *

><p>"So do you think we're going to get help eventually?" Teach asked.<p>

"I'm sure Marco and Thatch will wonder where I am. As to whether or not they'll actually _find_ us…" Ace chuckled. "The odds are a little longer."

"I'm convinced this is all your fault, by the way."

"What? Why?"

"Two reasons: one, I bet it was _your_ stupid bombs that made the damn building cave in, and two, it was _your_ idea to go back in in the first place."

"Hey, I had no way of knowing they built this place so shoddily! How is their ineptitude _my_ fault? And if we hadn't come down here, don't you think those kids would be dead, or left to die?"

"Oh, just let me be unreasonable," Teach grumbled.

"I _did_ try and get you to stay behind, if you'll recall. You're the one who opted to come along, so I don't see where you get off pinning all this on me."

"You're not letting me be unreasonable."

"No. No, I'm not."

"You're supposed to say, 'Oh, you poor baby, you got screwed' and leave it at that."

"Says who?"

"…Me."

"Convincing argument."

"Ain't it, though?"

"Wait, wait, shut up for a moment," Ace said. "I thought I heard something."

"Should we yell?" Teach whispered.

"Maybe. It doesn't sound like military boots." They listened in silence for a little while longer.

"Sounds like cloth," muttered Teach.

"Yeah…" Ace said. "But nothing fuzzy. Leather, maybe?"

"Maybe."

"Marco wears leather sandals."

"You think it's him?"

"It's not entirely out of the realm of possibility," Ace said. "I think we should shout. If it's a navy guy by accident, we'll just pretend we're navy until I can get a clear shot at him."

"Okay."

As it turned out, they didn't have to yell. The extremely faint light that Ace could see from the tiny opening at the top of the stairs widened, and noises of men heaving heavy things filtered through.

"HEY, DUMBASS!" Marco's voice yelled. "YOU FORGET SOMETHING? A SIEGE, MAYBE?"

Ace shook his head, stifling laughter. "Never, Marco! It's just so awfully comfy down here in the dust and the bits of collapsed ceiling, I thought I'd let you do all the heavy lifting. Literally!"

Marco laughed. "You're a fuckin' asshole. Teach down there with you?"

"Yep! Couple a bruises, but not much else!" Teach said.

"Good. We're coming to fish you out as soon as we're able."

"Thanks! Hey Marco? How did you know we were down here?"

"Eh, some kid ran up and started talking about some pirates who got stuck in the basement. Figured there were only so many missing pirates who were dumb enough to do something like that and took my chances."

Ace smiled, even though in the dark, no-one could see it. "Danny," he whispered. Louder, he said, "You gonna tell Oyaji about this?"

"Already told him!" Marco said. "He thinks we need to get your head checked. I concur. Eh, you can't be _that_ stupid. Your plan worked, I should mention. Dick move stealing all the fun bits, though. How come we ended up being your clean-up crew?"

This time, Teach was the one who responded. "'Cause old Ace-Taichou ain't half shabby at this kind of nonsense; that's why."

Ace just smiled and settled back into his piles of crushed lumber. Today was turning out to be a good day, after all. Just this once, he wasn't going to protest Teach's arbitrary promotion of him. Just for today, he might have earned it.

* * *

><p>(AN): So, sorry you had to wait a whole extra day for an update. Once again, I had that dinner party thing on with friends I haven't seen in forever and I was cooking all day, and when I wasn't cooking, I was chatting with them about aliens and ghosts and God and sex because really, what else is there to talk about?

WOOOOOO, IT'S 2012! The Hobbit movie comes out on the 14th of December and the first of the new episodes of the BBC Sherlock series is supposed to be out already. I'm so happy, it's not even funny.


	25. August 1st and 2nd Part Four

Sorry this took forever. Major writer's block right around the 500th word.

August 2nd and 3rd

"What have you two idiots been up to?" Whitebeard demanded.

"Oh, nothin' much. Wee bit o' mischief. Nothing indiscreet," Ace said.

"If that's the case, I dread to think what a large "bit o' mischief" might mean for you," Whitebeard said.

"As do we all," muttered Marco. "Any third-world countries annihilated the last time you got up to proper mischief?"

"Countries? No. Uninhabited islands? Weeeeeeeeeeeell…"

"You concern me."

"I try. So I take it everything of interest is done and over with?" Ace asked.

"_No_(!) The battle is still ongoing, it's just that everyone who is still fighting is _invisible_(!)" Norma said.

"No need for that," he muttered. "Sorry I got sidetracked, Oyaji. I really did mean to be here on time."

"I'm certain you did. Don't bother with apologies, though. Have you any regrets?"

Ace shrugged. "I don't think so, no."

"Then there's nothing to worry about. You'll have other opportunities for battle. You need a multitude of reasons to take a life, but none to save one." Ace grinned up at Whitebeard and scratched the back of his head.

"Oh, er, speaking of which, I think Marco mentioned Danny?" he asked.

"Who?" Marco said.

"Danny. It's the name of the kid. The one who told you where we were. Short, probably around six or seven years old. Blonde. Ringing any bells?"

"Oh, him!" Marco turned to look behind him, searching the rubble-strewn courtyard for any sign of the boy. "I could swear I told him to stay near Jozu. I figured if anybody could keep the little blighter out of trouble, it'd be him."

Jozu heard his name mentioned and trotted over. "Anything amiss?"

"Remember that kid I asked you to look after real quick?"

The massive armoured man cocked an eyebrow, not that it was too visible from the viewpoint of everyone who was a normal size and only came up to the bottom of his ribcage. "Kid? I remember you mentioned one and flew off in a hurry, but I looked around and there was no child."

Marco stiffened. "He was right there, I swear!"

"Taichou! Marco Taichou! Sir!" cried one of the men from the First Division.

"What?"

The man ran up, shedding dust as he went. "Sir, we were clearing out the rubble as best we could, but… there was this… Well-"

"Oh dear God, just spit it out!"

He swallowed nervously. "We found a body in with the wreckage, sir. It looks like a child's body."

Marco unconsciously turned to Ace, who had gone incredibly pale. "I swear to God," he breathed, "there was no other kid there. Nobody mentioned there being another kid and I never saw one."

"You better come with me, then," Marco said.

Ace fell in beside the blond man, staring at the ground with wide eyes, clearly searching his memory for any indication that maybe he had missed something. Marco belatedly wondered if it was a good idea to bring Ace along. He was only 18, if memory served, and knowing his personality, he would probably blame himself for the death of the child no matter what. Inviting him to see the corpse… it might only make the whole thing infinitely worse. Those kinds of images were the things that haunted you late at night, and Marco rather thought that Ace had enough of those to contend with as it was.

"Are you sure you want-" he began.

"Yes," Ace said.

"Because whatever you see down there probably isn't going to be-"

"I know."

"And you're okay with that?"

Ace swallowed. "As okay as I'll ever be."

Together, they trudged down the last set of stairs before hitting the entrance to the very lowest floor, the basement that had caved in. Their guide handed them each a lantern and gave them directions for once they entered the mostly-cleared room before hurrying away, clearly very keen to get away from the area.

"And the little room's towards the back?" Marco asked.

"Yeah. Off to the left in the corner."

Ace must not have realised it, but he was hanging back, eyeing the wooden door with no small fear and guilt. Marco tried to pretend he hadn't noticed and maneuvered his way around the still-present wreckage to get to the door. He hooked two fingers in the hole where the doorknob should have been and cautiously opened it, shining the light from his lantern in.

The little room must have either been an old walk-in closet or a pantry at some point, but it was barren now. What remained was a scene from a nightmare. There were shackles lining the three walls, about at the height of Marco's waist, and most of them were empty.

Most.

At the very back, deep in the shadows, was a small, crumpled body, impaled on a large beam that had pierced not only the boy, but the wall behind him, as well. Marco shuddered and closed his eyes, turning away as quickly as he could. Ace should _not_ see this. Definitely not.

"Oh, God," he whispered.

"What?" Ace's voice was loud and nervous.

"Ace, let's just go back up. You really don't need to…" He saw the look in Ace's eyes. The guilt. The pain.

"I really do. This… this was my doing," Ace said, quiet as death.

And suddenly Marco couldn't bring himself to tell his junior no. He breathed as deeply as he could in the dusty air and nodded. As Ace began forward, he put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "I'm here. Just so you know… If you need me."

Ace smiled wanly and nodded.

Ace threw the door wide, just because he felt the suspense of opening it slowly was too torturous. Marco saw him flinch back as though struck, a hand covering his mouth, and knew exactly what was going through his mind. They both stood in place as though frozen, unable to so much as say a word.

Marco eventually managed to speak. "It's not your fault, you know."

Ace's hand lowered from his mouth, as though he hadn't realised he'd been doing it. "Yeah… I know," he said.

"I'm being serious," said Marco.

"So am I. Look again," Ace said. "There's almost no blood. He was dead before the beam hit him."

Marco could only bring himself to glance quickly at the child before seeing that Ace was right. Wait… was that…?

"You notice that, too? So I'm not imagining it?" Ace asked.

"So it really is…?"

"It's Danny," Ace muttered. "I don't know how it's possible. By God, I had him in my arms. He was real. He spoke to me. I didn't see his face too well before the lights went out, but… I'm pretty sure that's him."

"Same here. I don't know why I didn't recognise him before. I mean, I talked to the kid, too. He felt pretty damn solid to me."

"Yeah… So what the hell is going on?"

Marco shook his head slowly. "I don't know. If that was a ghost we saw… Hell, I've never come across anything like this. It just isn't natural."

"A child was chained up and left to die in a small, cold, dark room. No part of this is natural," Ace said. There was nothing Marco could say to that.

* * *

><p>"Hey, guys! You back so soon? By Celestia, you look like hell. Especially Ace. What did you do, fall in a pile of fiberglass?" Thatch asked as soon as they all filed back aboard the Moby Dick, mission complete and then some. When they didn't answer (save a mild glare from Marco), he asked, "So, how did it go, if I dare ask?"<p>

"Swimmingly," Marco said.

"But neither of you can swim."

"Exactly."

He winced. "That bad, huh? Hang on, I'll fix you guys something to drink and then we can talk about it. Am I correct in assuming nobody feels like eating right now?"

"Yeah," Ace muttered. "I'm not hungry in the least."

"Meaning you want two apples and a slice of French toast, right?"

"Right."

Thatch was back almost as soon as he'd vanished, juggling three mugs of hot chocolate and a plate for Ace, ushering them to their usual table in the corner of the mess hall.

"So," he said, "if you feel like talking about it, can I know what happened?"

Ace nodded and told his part of the story from the beginning. Once he got to the collapse of the building, though, he handed it off to Marco, since he had no idea what had gone on while he was trapped. Thatch's mouth had at some point dropped open and stayed slack, eyes rounded in concern. Marco, with worried glances towards Ace, had finished with describing the fate of the boy, Danny.

"Mother of God," Thatch said. "Who the hell would do something like that to a _child_?"

"I'm not so sure they meant to," Ace said. "When someone's arms aren't by their sides, like when their arms are secured above their heads by shackles, breathing gets ever-so-slightly more difficult. Within a few days, you suffocate to death under the weight of your own lungs. Most people don't know that, though, and whoever put him in there probably gave him food and water and just assumed he'd be okay."

"That's awful," Thatch shivered. "You... you didn't have to tell his parents, did you?"

"No. We looked for them, but he was an orphan, it seems."

Thatch was quiet for several moments, but then he looked up, an uncharacteristically serious look on his face. "Hey, you don't think…"

"Don't think what?"

"That you guys saw his ghost because he wanted to help Ace?"

"Huh?"

"Well, think about it," Thatch said, "Ace tried to save him, and maybe his last act on earth was returning the favour."

Ace stared into the liquid at the bottom of his mug. "Maybe," he muttered, as though he hadn't quite realised he was saying it out loud. "Maybe."

"Meaning that kid Danny saved your life _and_ Teach's. He saved two of my brothers and no-one back in that town is going to mourn for him?" Thatch slammed down his mug. "Never! Come on, you guys. We're going to do this the right way!"

Ace hadn't been to a real funeral before, and technically, without a body to bury or even a working knowledge of the child's religion, he still hadn't.

Thatch had assured him that at funerals for children, most cultures in the Grand Line sang songs of prayer and hope throughout the night, to celebrate the innocence of childhood and help guide the inexperienced soul to Heaven. He wasn't sure if he believed it, but it sounded good all the same. He had sung every song of prayer he knew in the common tongue was starting to work his way through whatever other languages came to mind. Eventually, he was almost out. It was nearly dawn.

"Ace, come on. You need to go to bed. When did you last sleep?" Marco asked, trying to tug the younger man off of the ship's railing.

"One more song, Marco. I've only got one more song, and I'm done. Promise."

"Fine," he sighed. "Go for it."

"I don't know that much of it, so I'm probably going to screw it up, but you know what? I don't think Danny'll mind too much.

_Baba Yetu, yetu uliye_

_Mbinguni yetu, yetu amina_

_Baba Yetu, yetu uliye_

_Jina lako litukuzwe_

_Ufalme wako ufike utakalo_

_Lifanyike duniani kama mbinguni amina  
><em>

_Baba Yetu, yetu uliye_

_Mbinguni yetu, yetu amina_

_Baba Yetu, yetu uliye_

_Jina lako litukuzwe"_

"What the hell does any of that mean?" Marco asked.

"It's the Lord's Prayer in… Swahili, I think. Although the title given the particular musical arrangement is _Baba Yetu_."

"And why did you pick that?"

"Well," Ace said, "for one thing, it's one of the most beautiful pieces of music ever composed, in my opinion."

"And is there another reason?"

Ace smiled. "_Baba Yetu_ translates to 'Our Father'. Point of interest: it's also a euphemism for 'God'."

* * *

><p>(AN): You learn Mandarin Chinese, common explosives, ways to kill people, physics, and Swahili in this fic. You'd think your respective tax districts would be sending me money from their education appropriations.

Depressing chapter. Sorry. Oh, btw, a ghost boy named Danny? You can't tell _I'm_ reliving my childhood at all…(!) There's another show I referenced, however subtly, and if you can tell me what it is you get a giant cookie. That shit won't even fit on your monitor.


	26. Day 72

Came from an ever-so-slight prompt from Hi Hikari No Kaze. Also probably from the sugar rush. Slightly shorter than normal, but... whatever.

But, in all seriousness, WHAT HAVE I DONEEEEEEEEEEEEEE?

Day 72

Marco hadn't forgotten the little (well, comparatively little) prank with the egg Ace and Marco had played on him two weeks ago. With any luck, both of them had almost forgotten about it entirely by now. But Marco remembered. Marco was waiting patiently for his moment. For years on end, he had endured Thatch's bullshit. He had endured every imaginable prank with grace and dignity, from the constant rerouting of his personal Den-Den Mushi to a phone sex line so he kept getting calls from horny strangers to the fake landmine that had been set up outside his doorway for him to step on in the morning, his habit of rising early ensuring that no-one told him it was safe to move off it until a few hours later. His shit had been floated in jello _and_ the ocean. Hell, once he had woken up to find his _entire mattress_ floating on the open water, secured with a tow rope to the back of the Moby Dick to make sure he didn't fall off and drown in his sleep. His nightstand had thoughtfully been provided as well. Then there was that one time when Thatch put itching powder in his underwear drawer. He had been forced into bird form for a week because he couldn't stand the feeling of going commando. And the time Thatch had convinced him that rice would explode in his stomach if he ate it. And the time Thatch tried to tell him that his balding was a sign of a brain tumour.

Ace was a new offender. He could be let off easily.

Thatch, though… Thatch was a fucking bag of douche who needed a little reminder as to exactly _who_ signed his damn paychecks each month, because it sure as fuck wasn't Oyaji. Not with his inability to hold a pen without crushing it. There would be retribution. _Ohhhhh, there would be retribution._

* * *

><p>"What're you so happy about?" Thatch said, sounding almost accusatory. For him, it was downright criminal to be happy on a Monday morning. Even if his work no longer was restricted to weekdays, it was habit to hate Mondays from Thatch's time in public school and the private sector of the food industry.<p>

"Oh, nothin'," Marco said, picking up his whole entire waffle and dipping it in a veritable vat of maple syrup, then rolling it up and eating it whole.

"That's disgusting, I hope you know."

"It's delicious; shut up."

"Good morning, guys," Ace said as he sat down. "I hope you're not arguing already. Too early for that kind of shit."

"It's seven already and you're both pansies."

Thatch groaned. "That's exactly _it_, you sicko. Seven is an absolutely _disgusting_ time of morning to be cognizant."

"Bitch, please. I'm up at four-thirty every morning," Marco said. The other two exchanged glances and gasps of horror, turning to look at him as though he had just told them he had an infectious deadly disease.

"Mother of God and all Her wacky nephews, man, why would you do such a thing?" Thatch asked.

"One of these days you'll learn about something called a 'work ethic'," Marco said, pushing himself up from the table. "I'm done eating. See around later today, I suppose?"

"Yeah," Thatch said. He turned back to his own food. "How anyone can live like that is beyond me."

Ace's eyes followed Marco until he had gone from the mess hall. "He seems pretty happy and energetic, though. You ever think that maybe he's on to something, considering he's the happy one and we're the miserable, tired ones?" He caught Thatch's appalled face. "Hm. Guess not. Just a thought."

Jonah from Twelfth Division burst into the mess hall, out of breath.

"What's the rush, Jo'?" Thatch asked. "It's yet morning and nobody actually works before noon except Marco."

"Thatch Taichou, sir! You – you need to come out here! She's for you!" he gasped.

"'She'?"

Thatch shot Ace a look, but the younger man just shrugged, as stumped as he.

"I'll be right there, just gimme a sec," he said.

"No, sir. With all due respect, this isn't something you wait for."

He pushed his tray towards Ace. "Ace, watch my bacon for me."

"But-"

"Just don't let Norma eat it! Or Selma!" He hurried out of the mess hall, actually looking perturbed, for all his maxims about never being knowingly serious before lunch.

Ace eyed Thatch's bacon. He swiped and ate it. After all, Thatch had forgotten to tell him not to. With that done, Thatch's tray was empty save for the dirtied dishes and Ace was free to go watch the drama unfold. He'd had suspicions that Marco was up to something ever since he flew off on an unscheduled 'vacation' a few days ago and come back quite pleased with himself. Marco was a workaholic and Ace knew better than to think he would actually willingly take vacation days unless he was up to something downright nefarious. Time to see what Marco had planned.

The deck was crowded. It seemed other people had the same idea as Ace.

There was a woman standing opposite Thatch (who was looking white as death itself). She was rather attractive, with large black eyes and fiery red hair that was probably dyed, and plump lips that looked like she'd gone a bit overboard on the lipstick. What stood out, though, was the clearly visible bump on her stomach.

_Oh, shit._

"I waited for you!" she was saying. "I sent you letter after goddamn letter, and did I ever hear back? NO! Were you _ever_ planning on doing the right thing?"

"I swear to God, I don't even know who you are!" Thatch cried. "What letters are you even talking about? I never got anything like that!"

"You don't even remember! I knew it! You monster!" she bellowed, sinking down to the deck with a sob and covering her reddening face with her hands. "Fucking hormones!" she wailed.

Miranda, ginger Hannah, and Nick all went to the woman, patting her on the back or shoulder, or giving her a hug. All shot piercing glares at Thatch, along with at least three-quarters of the crew members on deck.

"I BET YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW MY NAME!" the woman cried out. Thatch fumbled, hands running through his hair and clearly terrified. "IT'S HANNAH, YOU HEARTLESS SON OF A BITCH!"

"Oh, God, there's another one," he muttered.

Apparently, this was the wrong thing to say.

The _worst possible thing_ to say, actually.

"'Another one'? '_Another one'_? You mean to say you've done this to _other_ women?" she shrieked.

"What? Fuck, _no_! What? _What_?" Thatch said. "I – I didn't say-"

"You all heard him! You heard him say it! Tell me you didn't say it. I fucking _dare you_, Mister."

"No, no, I didn't-!"

"You are the worst possible human being on earth! You know what? I don't care if you're the father of my child or not! I've had it with your shit. I've had it with all of your lies and your bull and your stupid, stupid face! I'll be fine on my own. I decided I don't need your fucking help! Go die! You go to hell and you die!" She jumped up from the deck and half-waddled, half-ran to the break in the railing where a rope ladder connected her small dinghy to the Moby Dick. When crew members called down offers of help or supplies, her tear-and-anger-choked voice firmly refused.

As she left, Thatch just stood there, staring at the floorboards in abject horror.

There wasn't a single person on board who hadn't heard of the incident after less than thirty minutes, mostly because the woman bearing Thatch's illegitimate child was damn shrill. The rest had to do with the notorious gossips on board. Everyone knew. Everyone also knew that they were supposed to hate Thatch now if they ever wanted to live a peaceful life again. They knew damn well the women would make their lives hell if they didn't, after all. And so, Thatch was on the receiving end of more hateful glares, nasty comments, and rude sniffs that day than he'd ever gotten in his life. He shut himself in his room after the first two hours.

Ace couldn't tell now if the whole thing had been staged or not. I mean, _holy shit_. He'd like to think that even Marco would know that there were limits.

He found Marco leaving his cabin and asked with his eyes. Marco got the hint.

"Gather everybody on the deck," he said. "Get Thatch to come out, too, if you can." Ace nodded and went about his mission.

* * *

><p>"Everyone," Marco said loudly, projecting so that he could be heard in the back, "I have a small confession to make! Thatch has not fathered an illegitimate child!" Massive amounts of muttering began instantly. "I hired that girl to pretend to be a fling of his for revenge for all the pranks he's pulled on me the last few <em>decades<em> or so. I think he's gotten the point, so let's leave him alone, shall we?"

"You sick fuck!" Thatch cried from the back of the crowd. "I really thought -! I mean, _what the fuck was that_?"

Marco jumped off the barrel, dismissing everyone with a wave of a hand. He trotted over to Thatch, looking appropriately smug. "That, my friend, was retribution. Not so fucking funny having a pregnancy scare, is it? To tell you the truth, you've been asking for it for years, and when I do something, I don't do it halfway. Kindly stick that in your pipe and smoke it." And with that, he walked away, pleased as punch.

Thatch just stared at the air hanging in front of him.

"Dang," Ace said. "I guess he really _does_ have his limits." He sipped at the tankard of rum he had in his hand.

"That rat bastard," Thatch whispered. "You know what I should have done? When I didn't recognise that girl, I should have told her I was gay and having an illicit affair with Marco the whole time."

Ace sprayed his rum everywhere in shock. "Well," he coughed out, "hindsight's a bitch."

* * *

><p>(AN): WHAT DID I JUST WRITE?

_OH LORD, WHAT DID I JUST WRITE?_

GOD FORGIVE US.


	27. Day 65 or Stormaggedeon Dark Lord of All

Sorry it took so long for me to update. To make up for it, this thing is about 60% larger than I normally write.

Day 65

or

Stormaggedeon, Dark Lord of All

Ace liked rain. It was nice, it smelled good, it cooled you down just right on a summer's night, it gave birth to all manner of beautiful plant life, you got rainbows from it once it was done, it was fun to dance in, and it was as close as Ace could ever get to swimming short of taking a bath – which he hated doing because even then, he could feel his strength draining from him. Running around in the rain had a lovely kind of freedom in it that he used to get from swimming, but since that was no longer an option, the rain sufficed. Jumping in puddles was also wonderful, most notably because it got other people wet, and even if they were already soaked to their very bones, they still got pissed for some unintelligible and illogical reasoning that no-one understands in the first place, and their misguided anger was funny as hell to watch.

What Ace didn't like was when the rain went on for _days_.

One of the lovely things about the Grand Line's weather, for all that it was spoken of as the bane of all seafarers, was how very quick it was to change. Yes, it made for some terrifying moments when a horrid storm could pop up out of absolutely nothing, but the good part was that the storms would always go away just as quickly as they would come. If you could survive the first few minutes, you were usually golden.

But this one storm had plagued the Moby Dick for the last four days, and it was appalling. What storm lasted four days, even outside of the Grand Line? If he didn't know better, he'd say it was following them on purpose. Thank God it was only rain so far. Knowing Grand Line weather, though, it was going to get worse eventually, if not very soon. For four days, it had been a waiting game, watching and feeling like the other shoe was going to drop any second. The stress was killing them.

The Whitebeard Pirates were not the most feared seafarers in the world for nothing, though. They knew their shit and had no trouble dealing with the various peculiarities their choice of locale threw their way. Ace was privately glad he was on their ship and not his own (though he would never _ever_ tell them that). His own crew, while competent, was not quite as phenomenal in their posts as the men and women around him now were.

Ace had at some point in the past mentioned possessing a decent understanding of weather. He also had 20/20 vision. For some reason, Izou had decided that this qualified him for lookout duty during storms. He clutched a blanket that was already soaked from the rain around his shoulders, trying to protect a covered mug of hot chocolate. There really was no reason, none at all, for it to be 4 degrees outside at the end of April.

The wind whipped about and nearly pulled the blanket off his shoulders when he pulled himself over the edge of the crow's nest, wedging himself in alongside Thatch.

"I'm supposed to be relieving you," he said loudly so as to be heard over the wind.

Thatch nodded but didn't turn around, eye glued to a spyglass that he was aiming in just about every direction. "They want me to start on dinner, right?"

"That's the idea."

"I think the guys can handle it, actually. Phil knows what he's doing and it's just soup. How wrong can it go?" Thatch said.

"I've learned not to ask those kinds of questions in the Grand Line," Ace said.

Thatch chuckled. "Perfectly true."

"So what are you even doing?"

"Looking for a ship."

"Eh? What the hell kind of a ship would be out here in this weather? Are we expecting somebody or something?"

"No, but that doesn't mean they aren't there," Thatch said. "Don't you think the weather's a bit… wet?"

"Well, we _are_ at sea," Ace pointed out. "I have my reasons for suspecting that the ocean is, indeed, wet-"

"Stop being a smartass. You know what I mean. We don't get weather like this in these parts. This isn't a goddamn rainforest. So why? Out here, I've come to learn that everything happens for a determined reason, and more often than not, when weird, unnatural shit starts going down, there's somebody with an Akuma no Mi involved. And since the little fuckers – present company excluded from the fucker category – can't swim…"

"Ahh," Ace said. "They need a ship."

"Yup. Hence my search."

"Logical."

"Bet you never thought of applying that word to _me_," Thatch said.

Ace laughed. "No. Can't say as I did. But why would somebody create a storm while they themselves were in the middle of it? It seems counter-productive. Wouldn't it be easier to do it from a distance and save yourself the trouble?"

"Most Akuma no Mi users have a range. Normally, that range is only… what, a kilometer at absolute best? Oyaji's powers stretch a little further, but honestly, his is kind of cause-and-effect, so it's kind of hard to tell where his power stops and where the power of the earth itself takes over. There's only one ability user I know of who has an unlimited range, a Miss Merigold Thousun, and she can't do anything like this," Thatch explained.

"Well, what can she do?"

"Eh, she possesses inanimate objects. She can move 'em a little bit if she tries hard enough."

"That's cool."

"I guess. She's not even a pirate, though, and she lives in the South Blue, for Chrissakes, not to mention the part where she's ten years old. There's no way she'd be in the area, even if she could do something like this." Thatch waved a hand in the rain to demonstrate. "So, are you going to keep an eye out for another ship or not?" He held out the spyglass to Ace.

"If I see something, I'll holler," Ace said. "I just don't think I should be looking for other ships as much as I should be looking for any changes in the weather."

Thatch was already headed down. "Whatever. Just make sure we don't all plummet into the ocean for any reason, if you please?"

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled.

* * *

><p>He'd been up in the crow's nest for an hour and change when he felt it. The air pressure felt like it was dropping and his ears felt a little odd.<p>

"Shit," he whispered, grabbing up the spyglass and praying that he'd made a mistake. Alas. Alack. Forsooth. No suck luck.

Far off in the distance, such that it could barely be seen with the naked eye, was a dark, swirling vortex of clouds. Ace wasn't exactly a meteorologist, but he was reasonably certain that those clouds were going to turn into a full-blown cyclone before long.

"MIRANDA!" he bellowed. "SHITSTORM IMMINENT! NORTH BY NORTHWEST!"

Somebody yelled up a confirmation (it wasn't Miranda or anyone else from the navigation department, so he could only assume that the message would be accurately relayed). Thankfully, in less than a minute, someone was scurrying up to meet Ace. He recognised the short dirty-blond hair and the too-sharp nose on the man, but otherwise, had no clue.

"Who are you again?" he asked, fully aware that he'd never known in the first place.

"Calvin from navigation. Nice to meet you, but that's really not the point. Storm north by northwest, you said?"

"Yeah." He handed Calvin the spyglass and pointed him in the right direction. "Those clouds looking like an up-and-coming cyclone to anybody else?"

Calvin cursed under his breath. "Yeah, that's exactly what it looks like. Thanks for saying something."

"Don't mention it," he said blithely.

Once the man had left and told everyone the situation, the deck was abuzz with activity. Ace kept his eyes trained on the ominous clouds, though, knowing just how quickly storms could get infinitely worse in the Grand Line. Every second mattered. If he had been watching, though, he would have seen the crewmembers all tying tow ropes around their middles and attaching them to the pegs surrounding the mast installed for that very purpose. There were also relocating everything that wasn't tied down to the lower decks where they hopefully wouldn't fly or roll around in the likely event of a killer storm.

It wasn't another five minutes before the clouds seemed to drip down from the sky to form a dark grey cone that turned Ace's stomach cold as ice.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_," he muttered, leaning over the edge of the crow's nest. Down below, he could just make out Marco's wild patch of bright blond hair just in front of Whitebeard's unmistakable form. "MARCO!" he cried. The patch of blond turned up to look at him. Rather than explain, he just pointed, turning his arm into bright flames to better indicate the source for alarm.

He could hear Marco's voice yelling something, but couldn't make out a word of it. From the frantic gesturing, though, the messages weren't meant for him, but for those people who were running around the deck at a heightened pace.

The wind was picking up alarmingly fast and the waves had grown a good three or four metres in the last few minutes. Not a good sign.

Ace's blanket (not that it had been doing him much good) was whipped off his shoulders at last and cast into the depths of the sea. He winced and made a mental note to reimburse Marco for destruction of property. Or maybe he could pin it on Thatch, since he technically no longer had much of an income with which to reimburse Marco, anyway.

Or – and here was a novel idea – maybe he could concentrate on surviving for now.

The waves, which were distressingly large before, had doubled in height. Water slopped about the already-slick deck and crewmembers were forced to slow down if they didn't want to trip and slide. The ship tilted gut-wrenchingly with each wave, knocking a few of those with poor footing onto their backs. Ace wrapped a forearm around the small railing installed in the crow's nest for just such occasions as he gazed down at the roiling waters below, seeming to grow closer with every gust of wind. He didn't normally get motion sickness, but up here, the sway was distinctly more pronounced, and it seemed as though he was constantly being dangled above the waves with no ship below him should he fall. The idea alone made his face go pale and his stomach churn uncomfortably.

In his preoccupation with his own issues, Ace turned back to the situation on deck too late to do anything but watch with horror.

At some point, one of the younger crewmembers in charge of securing rigging off to the starboard side of the ship accidentally lost his footing just as a truly gargantuan wave crashed _over_ the railings of the ship. Marco had seen. He had just managed to make a mad dash for the young man, grabbing him and throwing him to safety with all of his strength before the wave grabbed hold of him and sucked him over the side of the ship as it receded.

"_MARCO_!" Ace screamed.

He didn't hear the other voices screaming after the First Division Commander. He didn't see Namur run to the side of the ship and dive into the waters below, smoothly and gracefully as a dolphin. He didn't think. He just _did_.

He jumped.

All he could do was thank Heaven and Earth that the rain didn't rob him of his abilities the same way being immersed in water did, because he somehow managed to ignite his feet and hands to fly like he had done less than a week ago. He really should have thought first, to be honest, because the technique wasn't fully developed and if he fucked up, that was it. Ace couldn't bring himself to return to the ship, though, not when he could just see a patch of blond hair just below the surface of another wave, heading towards the ship. It seemed the sheer ferocity of the water had kept Marco from sinking like a rock just yet.

Descending had never been Ace's strong point in flight practice, unless you counted falling, in which case he was amazing at it. He wobbled in the air as he made a few attempts to get closer.

A pale and wet arm shot out of the water. Marco had seen him, but didn't have the breath to shout.

Below, unseen, Namur found Marco with only a little difficulty. The masses of bubbles made visibility underwater a bit poor, but Ace's flames just above where Marco was borne by the undercurrent made a pretty unmistakable marker. He closed an arm around Marco's middle, hoisting him as far up into the air as he could. From the man's gasping, desperate breaths and wet coughs, he wasn't dead yet. Always a good thing. Namur poked his head out of the water.

"Ace! Grab him! Get him back to the Moby Dick!" he shouted. He thought he heard Ace shout something affirmative, but with the storm raging around them, it was a little hard to tell.

Ace found stabilising flight to be even harder than descending. After a few misses, he managed to get close enough to sling Marco's weakened form over a shoulder and shoot off for the ship like a witch with Torquemada on her heels. Namur wasn't far behind.

Ace sat Marco, who was still coughing up seawater, against the firm wood of the outer wall of Whitebeard's cabin.

"Marco. Marco, are you okay? Can you breathe?"

The man tried to take a breath to speak, but couldn't help the hacking coughs that took over. He gave up, just nodding furiously. "'m fine," he managed to wheeze out.

"You sure?"

Marco gave him a glare, still coughing.

"You're right; sorry. Had to ask. Standard question."

"Dumbass." Another bout of violent coughing.

"Marco?" Whitebeard asked, bending down. Ace couldn't recall where he had come from so suddenly. "My son, are you all right?"

"He's fine," Ace said, taking over. "Well, _he_ says he is. I don't know how reliable that assessment may or may not be."

"That's good. Thank Heaven." The giant of a man turned to thank Ace as well only to find the young man had already run off.

Ace took to the skies again, now more confident that he could do it without accidentally killing himself. He made for the black cone that had grown thicker and undoubtedly more devastating, which was heading not-quite-straight for the Moby Dick. He had no doubt, though, that the cyclone would be deadly whether it hit the ship dead-on or not.

"Amonton's Law," he murmured to himself. "When volume is kept constant, the pressure of a gas is directly proportional to its temperature." There was no way to keep the volume constant. All he could do was pray that the instantaneous increase in temperature would drastically change the pressure of the air in the cyclone before the particles had a chance to disperse. It was stupid and he was quite certain it wasn't going to work, but it was worth a try.

He hurled himself straight into the cyclone, breathing deeply, and exploded with every last ounce of energy he had.

* * *

><p>If Marco didn't know better, he'd say a star had gone supernova in the center of the cyclone. For a moment, everyone on deck stopped still, staring at the incredible light that radiated out from the once-black cone. It was… beautiful. All Marco could think was that Ace's Logia wasn't flame… He was a star, burning brightly for all eternity. There was nothing else for it.<p>

The light dimmed and faded after a minute or so, and with it went the black cyclone. The sky was still dark, the rain still beat down upon them mercilessly… but the wind wasn't nearly so homicidal and the waves weren't mountains anymore.

Ace's flames surrounding his hands and feet looked small and feeble, but somehow they carried him back to the ship. The moment he was over the solid deck, he dropped down onto the wood with a loud thunk.

"Hey, Ace. What the hell did you _do_?" Marco asked, still hoarse.

"…Experimented," the young man in his arms offered tiredly.

Marco just chuckled (and coughed a little more), ruffling Ace's rain-slicked hair. "You're batshit insane," he confided.

Whitebeard walked up to the two of them, smiling softly. "Ace, I would like to offer my thanks. It may be possible that you have saved the lives of me and all my sons and daughters. Thank you."

Ace sat up abruptly. He looked at the man he'd been fighting to assassinate for sixty-five straight days and muttered, "Well, fuck."

* * *

><p>(AN): Because when I was a kid, I didn't know that "cursing up a storm" was just an expression. I figure that, since it IS the Grand Line and all, there's gotta be a place like that somewhere in there.

Also, I don't think that you can really stop a storm like that. Of course, I also don't think anyone's ever tried. How many people do you know who would see a cyclone and say, "Hey, let's light it on fire and see what happens"?

For those who noticed, "Merigold Thousun"? Sounding like Merry-go and Thou(sand) Sun(ny) to anyone else? And she can possess inanimate objects like ships, you say? YEAH. I WENT THERE.


	28. September 19th Part One

Hello, ladies. Look at your inbox. Now back to me. Now back to your inbox. Now back to _me._ Sadly, not every story updates every day or even every other day. Look down. Now back up. Where are you? On the page of a fanfic that actually updates regularly with the characters you only wish were real. What's in your hand? Back at me. I have it. It's the latest chapter of nonsense Nadeshiko managed to type out at ninety miles an hour. Look again. THE CHAPTER IS NOW DIAMONDS. Anything is possible when your author is a woman with no life and insomnia. I'm on a horse.

September 19th

It was eight in the morning and there were already things exploding. It was shaping up to be a good day, thus far.

Captain Antonio Del Mare was an up-and-coming pirate and had done quite well for himself in the first half of the Grand Line. What the little shit didn't realise was that just because you were okay in the first half didn't mean anything in the New World. He had gone around boasting that he could beat up Whitebeard any day, even though he never actively sought out the man for such a fight. So, they were sacking his ship for fun. They were in the neighbourhood and it seemed as good a reason as any.

Well, really, it was just Ace, Thatch, and a couple of guys from Second Division. It wasn't even an official raid, just something to pass the time.

The best part thus far was Antonio's outraged squawking. It helped the bird analogy along in that he was already wearing a shirt with billowing sleeves that resembled wings when he flapped them around like that and that his hat and neck were both decorated with incredibly gaudy feathers. Priceless. Ace was a little sad that Marco wasn't there to see it. It was so rare for the man to hear bird jokes without being the target of them.

"Please! Leave us alone, please! I'll apologise in public, okay? Isn't that what you want? I'll do it, just please leave!" said Antonio, his high, nasal voice resounding.

"Funny; 'apology' and 'treasure' don't really sound the same at all," Ace mused, "and I only recall asking for one of them."

"I don't think he wants to let go of his money, Ace. Greedy little bastard, ain't he?" Thatch said. "We're not here to kill you, buddy, just, y'know, beggar you a little."

"And if you're not feeling like telling us where you hid all your junk, we can always just beat you up and then search your cabin at a nice, leisurely pace. Fun as that sounds, though, I don't think you're particularly keen on that whole part where you get your arse kicked, how about you help us circumvent the whole thing and give it up right now?" Ace asked, sounding entirely too reasonable.

"Fuck you!" Antonio spat.

"Isn't that adorable, Ace? He cursed at us. Bless his widdle heart."

Antonio wisely decided to run like hell at this point.

"Thatch?" Ace said.

"Already on it." Thatch used his two sword sheaths, connected at the hilt, as a pole to vault over the heads of the idiots that Antonio had left behind to guard his hasty retreat. Ace, James, Haddock, and Samuel were already hard at work dealing with _them_. Or, rather, everyone else was hard at work and Ace was just having fun.

Thatch followed the fleeing form of Antonio down into the bowels of the ship, which seemed to be very badly lit, unless that was just the residual glare after being outside in the bright sun for so long. Those precious very seconds it took for Thatch's eyes to adjust almost lost him his quarry, but a thunk and hissed curse alerted him to the other man's presence somewhere off to the left of the corridor.

Thatch unsheathed one sword – surely he didn't need two for somebody this retarded – and noiselessly followed.

But seriously, the lower decks of the ship were damn near labyrinthine. He couldn't discern what floor he was on at any given time, because each room, hall, nook, and cranny was at a different elevation than anything around it. Some of the floors sloped, sometimes there were three steps between one room and the next, and sometimes the floor would have a sudden drop of about half a metre from room to room. There were occasional holes in the staircases that, if they were not jumped over, would drop you down to hidden chambers and rooms that were otherwise inaccessible. There also seemed to be holes cut into every wall, some aligning with the floor and some not, so it was almost impossible to tell where you had come from or where you were going. The strangest things were the masses of string, twine, and wire that were tied all around. It didn't help that Antonio had decided to take one of the most difficult, ridiculous routes through the ship known to man. Thatch found it difficult to move around with his weapon out and wondered vaguely if that wasn't the real purpose of the man's retreat here.

The lighting was getting worse and worse the further he got. Antonio also knew the ship far better than he did, and was making better time. It was all Thatch could do to keep him in sight.

Antonio rounded a corner and not five seconds later, Thatch followed. He stopped dead, his eyebrows drawing together in shock. It was a dead end. There wasn't a door or an entrance to anything. There were no holes or windows or doorways cut into the walls like there seemed to be in every other feasible part of the ship. No steps leading up to anything. There was nothing at all. _So where the hell did Antonio go?_

Thatch whipped out a match and struck it against the rough surface of his sword sheath. A bright flame exploded into existence. The chef held it a short distance from the wall, passing it along the entire surface. Suddenly, the flame, which had originally been pointing upwards with the ascension of the hot gas, changed direction, pointing to so faint a crease in the wall so as to be almost invisible. Thatch grinned.

"The draft screws 'em over every time," he chuckled, pushing the wall open to reveal a hidden passage.

"HONEY, I'M HOOOOOOOME~!" he sang into the passageway.

Thatch's foot caught on a string tied around the doorway and the passageway promptly flooded with knockout gas.

"Oh, bollocks," he said before collapsing against the door, pressing a tiny button on the underside of the ring on his left thumb and sinking into oblivion.

* * *

><p>Ace was done dealing with imbeciles and was a little envious of Thatch. He was taking a hell of a long time, so Ace could only assume that Antonio proved to be something of a worthy adversary. Nobody on the deck was worth their salt, and it was getting pretty annoying.<p>

"Shit, Ace! Heads up!" Haddock called out.

Ace's head whipped around to where his crewmate was pointing. His jaw tightened.

"Bloody Marines always have to dick up everything," he growled. Louder, he addressed the others. "We need to grab Thatch and leave. That's one of their bigger warships and if I remember Haruta's last report correctly, it's likely carrying somebody annoying. Well, several somebody annoyings, but that's really not the point. Where the hell is he?"

"You mean he's not back yet?"

"Del Mare didn't look that tough to me."

"He wasn't," Ace said. "Or at least he shouldn't be."

"Hey, Ace?" James said from the doorway to the lower deck. "I think you should come see this." Ace hurried over and instantly saw what the problem was. There was not a hallway, or another room. There was a goddamn maze that looked more like a jungle gym designed for small children than a living space. "Ace, with the size of this ship taken into account and also assuming that the rest of the ship is like this… I don't think we'd find-"

One of Ace's many pockets buzzed loudly. He yanked out a tiny baby Den Den Mushi, clicking it on. "You better be calling to say you're going to here in the next three goddamn seconds, Thatch!"

The snail let out a peculiar beep, then uttered, "Ackbar," and went silent.

"What the hell does that mean?" Samuel said.

"It's an automated message," Ace said. "Thatch just sent me an encoded message. He thinks this whole thing is a trap."

"…So what does that mean? Does he want us to leave him here? What are we supposed to do?"

Ace made one of the harder decisions in his life rather quickly. "He sent us that message for a reason: he wants us to get to safety. He can handle himself and there's no way we'd be able to find him in all that. A rescue attempt has a better chance of success than an escape attempt, especially when you consider that the Marines apply Sea Stone cuffs, which would greatly reduce my offensive capabilities. We bust him out at the first chance we get and then run like hell. We've got a small-ish vessel, so we shouldn't find it too hard to hide and keep eyes on the Marines. Let's go."

The others exchanged glances, but everything Ace said made perfect sense, and it wasn't like they were abandoning their brother. They nodded heads and hauled ass before the Marines arrived.

* * *

><p>Thatch woke up in a Marine holding cell alongside the dead body of Antonio Del Mare. Well, he had still woken up in worse situations.<p>

"Well, spank my rear and call me Meredith," he muttered. "The Navy actually managed to do something _right_?"

"I understand all too well your disbelief, sir," said a voice from the cell over. "What have they got you charged with, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Who the hell are you?" Thatch asked, squinting. He could make out some details, but the young man's hat obscured his face, save for the shit-eating grin that seemed oddly familiar. But really, who went around with a torn-up top hat and aviator goggles? Combine that with the tattered cravat and waistcoat and you had someone who fancied himself a gentleman.

"I'm not rightly certain, myself," the young man said. Thatch noticed a tooth missing from his upper row. "They are under the impression I'm a Revolutionary, and in more ways than one, I suppose they've got some of that correct. I don't like my surname much, so I never use it, and I don't like giving out my given name, because I much prefer anonymity, so… Call me what you will. Bob. Ted. Rumplestilskin. Whatever floats your boat, so to speak."

"You're a bit mad, huh?"

"You say that with the air of one well-acquainted with madness. Hypocrisy represents the greatest of all insights."

"So you're a Revolutionary and a philosopher, eh? You don't seem like the type to get caught so easily," Thatch said.

"Oh, I didn't get caught. It's part of the Master Plan!" the boy insisted, looking up. His hair was a curly, pale blond and his face and eyes were rounded like a child's still, but the intelligence in those eyes still shone through.

"Riiiiiiiiiiight(!)" Thatch said. "And I didn't get caught, either; I'm an interrogator here to weasel your secrets out of you once your guard is down(!)"

"Sarcasm doesn't become you, Thatch James Milo, Commander of the Fourth Division of the Whitebeard Pirate League."

Thatch stared hard for several seconds. "Who the hell are you really?"

The young man just grinned wider. "A brother of a brother, and that's all you need to know."

* * *

><p>(AN): If you don't know who he is by now… I just don't know what to do with you right now. At any rate, he's a fun character to write. Look at what sort of stuff he pulled when he was little and you can quite easily imagine him growing up to be one of those philosophising, irritating little bastards who likes to mess with your head every time you talk to him.


	29. September 19th Part Two

Hi guys! Remember when I did daily updates? ME TOO.

September 19th Part Two

Marco knew Ace and Thatch were dumbasses. Even if Ace knew physics and chemistry and engineering and even if Thatch could figure out the slightest of details about a person by just looking at them, they were still both goddamn idiots, and Marco, caring big brother that he was, felt a completely rational need to check up on them whenever they were away from the Moby Dick. They'd also been giggling about something before they'd left, and if they giggled about a single thought for longer than fifteen seconds, it was probably something stupid and objectionable.

It wasn't until his personal Den-Den Mushi went off that he realised how lightly he had been taking the whole matter, and how serious it actually was. Thatch had a ring on his thumb that he had gotten programmed ages ago to send two messages – or rather, the same message to two locations, one to Marco, and one to a remote Den-Den Mushi that usually went with whoever was next in the line of command of whatever unit Thatch was accompanying. In this case, that was Ace. The message was encoded and simply was meant to convey that Thatch had fallen into a trap and was meant to inform everyone else to run like hell. For Marco, though, it was a distress signal. The idea was that for everyone else, if Thatch was too weak, they wouldn't stand a chance, but since it was Marco, he was invited to attempt to give Thatch all the help in the world. The ring also had a homing device built into it, so Marco could always find it. The receiver was always on him with that very purpose in mind. He had nagged Thatch to get the ring when he'd first seen such a thing for sale three years ago… just after Holli had retired. The look in her eyes when she saw Thatch just before she left still haunted Marco's memory. He knew what it meant. For years, he'd been telling himself that he imagined it, or that he was making a mountain out of a molehill. Surely it wasn't as bad as he thought it was, being the mother hen he was inclined to be, all bird jokes aside. Thatch had only used that damn ring signal once since he'd gotten it, and then now. The message filled him with just as much cold terror then as it did now. All Marco could think was that maybe… maybe this was what Holli had seen. Maybe the day had finally come when Marco would lose one of his dearest brothers and there was nothing he could do about it. In these moments, he always saw with amazing clarity just what a terrible thing foreknowledge was.

* * *

><p>"So, are you going to tell me anything other than this 'brother of a brother' shit? Gonna tell me <em>which<em> brother?" Thatch asked his fellow prisoner.

The young man shrugged. "It wasn't in the plan, no."

"Have it your way, _Mysterion_." Thatch was not a man to take no for an answer. If the blond man wasn't going to tell him anything, then he'd just have to figure it out for himself.

Normally, Thatch liked to pretend he was an idiot. It was more fun that way, when he didn't pay attention to anything or anyone, unless of course that attention brought him some form of entertainment. Whenever he went into his professional mode, though, his powers of observation were limitless. It was good for when he was cooking and needed to add an ingredient, although he wasn't certain exactly what to add. It was good for when there was an enemy he needed to understand how to beat, or at least how to throw off his guard. It was also good for pissing people off, and that was exactly what he needed it for now.

Hands. Soft. Smooth. Slight calluses on the tips of fingers and on the inside of the furthest knuckles. Had he held pliers? Wire-cutters? Also along the inside of the flesh between the thumb and forefinger. Middle finger on both hands slightly squared. Conclusion: ambidextrous, well-educated, possible work as an engineer. Jeweller was also a possible occupation, but he did say he had connections with the Revolutionaries, so engineer was much more likely.

Clothes. Blue, blue, a little white, and more blue. Didn't go with his colouring well, so sentimental value? Posh styles, but tattered. Wearing Sea Stone shackles, but appearing unaffected. Practical shoes, made to grip well in wet weather, but just about everything else was a bit impractical. Conclusion: birthday in early January, probably New Years' Day, previously a rich boy, probably a nobleman, but estranged from his father for ten or so years. No Devil Fruit abilities.

Well, it was better than nothing.

"He's not your biological brother, is he?" he asked.

The man looked up. "Hm? No. But then, he's not related to _you_ by blood, either, now is he? I thought one of Whitebeard's crew would be the last to call me on such a thing and pretend as though it mattered," he said. He sounded a little put out.

"I'm just saying, I don't think any of my brothers are the sons of noblemen, is all."

The man froze and went a little paler than normal. Thatch grinned a little inside. Mission accomplished.

"Who the fuck told you that?"

"You did just now," he said.

"That's not an answer. _How did you know?_" he hissed again.

"I didn't know; I noticed. You've got hands like a nobleman, you talk like a nobleman, and you dress like a nobleman who hasn't had access to his funds for many a year. Piss off Daddy, eh? Or, since you're a Revolutionary, I imagine Daddy did something not-quite-politically-correct to piss _you_ off?"

The man bristled. "That's one way to put it. And there is nothing wrong with the way I dress."

"You're wearing a cravat and a waistcoat."

"So?"

"…Never mind." Something floated on the edge of Thatch's mind. It was ridiculous, but he couldn't help asking. "You wouldn't happen to be around 18 years old, would you?"

"Perhaps I am. I assume you've assigned some significance to that number?" he said.

Thatch breathed deeply. "Are you and your brother twins in age? Same birthday?"

"…Yes. From that, I think you know who my brother is now?" the boy asked.

No.

Not 'the boy'.

Sabo.

_"He made a promise to his brother."_

_"Luffy?"_

_"Nope. Other brother."_

_"Shit! How many of them __are__ there running amok? The world was scary enough with just the two."_

_"Still just the one. This brother died a while back."_

"Tell him you're alive."

Sabo heaved out a sigh of his own. "It's more complicated than that."

"Not really. He damn near tore himself up because of you."

"Yes, and that's exactly why I…" Sabo took off his hat and ran fingers through his curly hair. "…I just don't want to kick up dust that has already settled. He doesn't need me. He's got Lu- er, he's got his family still."

"Why won't you say their names? They miss you, you know," Thatch said.

"If the Navy has listening devices, I'd appreciate it if they don't figure out who my family is. I told you. I like anonymity. It keeps people from going after the people I love."

"And so what happens when somebody comes after you?" Thatch wanted to know. "What happens when you're in trouble and you need help, but everyone who would come to your rescue thinks you're dead?"

"…Exactly," Sabo muttered. "Nobody will get hurt because of me like this."

There was nothing Thatch could say to that.

Sabo wasn't done. "Just please… Don't tell him I'm still alive. If I ever tell him, I'd like it to be on my terms. Can I get that promise from you?"

"…Well, then, you're going to have to promise me in turn that he won't die thinking you're still dead. Are we clear?"

"Yes."

"Then I promise not to tell him."

"Thank you."

The iron door to the prison hall slammed open, light flooding the holding cells.

"Why, hellooooooooo there, Thatch, my dear little fucktard," cooed one of the most annoying, smug voices on the face of the goddamn planet.

"Doflamingo," he said cooly. Of course. Antonio wore feathers everywhere. He had wires and string everywhere. He was a Doflamingo fanboy. He must've called him in that secret room back on the ship. No wonder he ended up dead. Doflamingo killed people who liked him for fun.

"Getting comfy, are we? Making fwiends~?"

"Yup. Grown some IQ points since I saw you last?"

"Suck my dick."

"I'll take that as a 'no'."

"Just stand the fuck up. I brought you a present." Doflamingo tossed Thatch's swords through the bars, smiling widely as ever.

"And it ain't even my birthday!" Thatch said. "What's the occasion?"

"The Marines are cute and all, but I'll never get off fighting such fuckin' pansies as are on this ship. Now you and me? We can dance. Nobody else seems to get it quite like you do. So now, why am I required to sit on my hands when there's somebody as fun as you around, hmm?" Doflamingo unlocked Thatch's cell.

"Aren't you kind required to keep me locked up, though? I can't see the Marines being overly happy about you letting me roam free."

"Oh, they'll shit bricks," the gaudy man assured him. "That'll be almost as fun as killing you."

"Oh, don't think I'll make it easy for you," Thatch growled. He had already cut through his shackles (they used plain ones on him – what idiots) and unsheathed his swords.

"Oh, Thatch, m'dear," Doflamingo said, "that was rather the point."

* * *

><p><em>Three Days Later<em>

"So, what you're saying is that Thatch fought one of the scariest damn Shichibukai in existence and escaped on his own without your help?" Marco confirmed.

"Yeah. That's about the size of it," Ace said. "We were all set to raid the Navy ship and take him back, but… I guess we underestimated Thatch a little."

"Eh, everybody does."

"Sometimes I forget that Thatch is the Fourth Division Commander and not…"

"A child stuck in a man's body?"

"Yeah," Ace said.

"Thatch can be pretty damn awesome when he wants to be. He wouldn't be a Commander for Whitebeard if he didn't know how to handle himself. We just tend to forget that oftentimes because Thatch spends so much of his time being…"

"…being Thatch?"

"I was going to say 'being a fucking dumbass', but I like yours better. More diplomatic."

"So… do you know how exactly Thatch managed to fight Doflamingo and come out just fine? From what I've heard, nobody actually knows what his Devil Fruit powers are, but whatever they are, they're supposed to be able to cut through people and control their minds and all sorts of other weird shit," Ace said.

Marco snorted. "Oh, it's pretty easy to figure out if you're a goddamn _detective_ like Thatch. He figures that Doflamingo is a String-type. He's not sure if it's a Logia or a Paramecia, but the concept is the same. Or, I guess, maybe 'Wire' is a better term than 'String'. He can use it to cut through people, or he can wrap them around people and move them like puppets. That's why he can only control people after he's gotten above them at some point – he has to attach the wires from above. Thatch used to put on puppet shows for his eight-odd siblings – remember I told you about them ages ago? He can counter-attack anything Doflamingo does just by watching the way his fingers twitch. The rest of us? Not so much. Thatch is one of the only guys in the world who can fight toe-to-toe with Doflamingo. The rest of us just do what we can to either stay out of his way, or make sure he never gets above you to turn you into a puppet. It's all you can do with him, really. I swear, if they didn't keep trying to kill each other and if Doflamingo weren't a psychopath, they'd be good friends. Same mental age," Marco said.

"Ouch," Ace winced. "I promise not to tell Thatch you said that."

"Thanks. You know, sometimes I can't tell which side you're on; Thatch's or mine."

"Whichever seems like it'll be more fun, usually," Ace said.

"…Right, then. Send Thatch in. And by the way, you're both grounded for eternity, according to Oyaji."

"Fuck, wait, _what_?"

* * *

><p>(AN): Okay, yeah, I know I got a ton of reviews asking for Sabo to meet up with Ace. I can't do it in the course of my head-canon, but next chapter, I'll be doing a series of requested shorts that I just couldn't flesh out into full chapters. Make your suggestions now! They will all occur outside of fic-canon, so… Go nuts. Seriously.

Doflamingo's powers? Yeah, I know they haven't actually revealed them yet, so there's the possibility that I'm wrong, but I am dead certain I'm right. Watch the footage of his and you'll see I'm right - every time he controls someone, he's gotten above their heads at some point prior. How did I notice that? ...I have no earthly idea.


	30. BONUS:  Requests 1 through 5

CHAPTER THIRTY, MUTHAFUCKAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH~! Oh yeah. Have I mentioned that this fic is easily three times longer than anything else I've written EVER?

Short #1: To the Moon

-for DarkAliceChibi and CaptinADaWeirdOnes

"Well, while you seem to be raring for a fight," Thatch said, "I'm not. I mean, you just let me go and gave me my swords! Now, that was darn-well sweet of you. If anything, I'm inclined to buy you a drink, not attempt to stick my swords between your eyes."

Doflamingo just grinned wider. "Not in the mood, eh? Well, I know what will change your mind in a hurry." He gave a cackling laugh that boded much ill. With a flourish, he delivered the most abhorred words ever spoken. "Diamond Tiara is the best pony."

Thatch reeled back in horror. "You sick bastard. How could you? _How could you? _ You can't even make an argument for that! Everyone hates her! Besides, the best pony _clearly_ is and always will be Pinkie Pie."

Sabo jumped to his feet. "Blasphemy! The best pony is Twilight Sparkle, no questions asked."

Thatch was about to snap a reply when the Den-Den Mushi on the wall went off noisily. Doflamingo kindly turned it on.

"Actually," came Ace's voice, "the best pony is Rainbow Dash and all of you are retarded."

The other Den-Den Mushi on the wall went off. This time it was Marco. "Okay, I can kind of understand where all of you are coming from, but Fluttershy is cutest thing on the whole goddamn planet, right next to Derpy Hooves and little baby Princess Luna."

Whitebeard's voice, sounding as though he was shouting from a distance on Marco's end, bellowed, "You young people don't know anything! The best ponies are Fancy Pants and Granny Smith. The rest of them are little better than foals."

"That's it," Thatch growled. "I'm banishing all of you to the moon…" He turned to Doflamingo. "…Starting with _you_."

* * *

><p><span>Short #2: Con te Partiro<span>

-for Kaitaru Seras Viktoria Hatake

Grounded.

Motherfucking grounded.

Ace supposed that while he certainly wasn't a child any more, it was more understandable to ground him than it was to ground Thatch. Yes, Thatch acted a grand total of seven years old. The man was over forty, at least. Could you even ground people who had progressed into (and possibly past) middle age already?

No Den-Den Mushi were allowed. Their books, toys, and games had been taken away, as well. They weren't allowed to leave their respective rooms until either Marco or Whitebeard told them they could. No desserts. No alcohol. Other crew members were on strict orders not to talk to either of them through their doors. If they happened to go into port, neither was allowed to leave the ship.

It sucked.

Ace was bored out of his mind. The only slight upside was that he didn't have any work to do, but it wasn't much of an upside. He'd be grateful for work right now – anything to no longer be bored witless. Thatch was in the room next to him, but with no air vents or windows to speak through, it wasn't doing him much good at all.

There was the tiniest bit of nostalgia to it all, though. The solitude reminded Ace strongly of how it had been when he had first left Goa Kingdom in the East Blue. No crew, a very small boat, and nothing else between him and the endless expanse of sea. He'd gotten pretty damn bored back then, too. To pass the time, he had sung non-stop for… God, it must have been days on end. He'd gotten so damn bored, he had sung every song he knew. Twice. Even the ones in languages he didn't know, so he was just mumbling gibberish along to the tune. Who cared if he forgot lyrics or missed the high notes? Who cared if technically the tune went up on that line instead of down? Who cared that Ace would sometimes translate songs into other languages and see if he could get it to fit the tune? Who cared if he was loud as hell? It was all a product of boredom and therefore forgivable.

Wait.

Loudness.

That was it.

The walls of the Moby Dick weren't exceedingly thick. Ace could attest to that more than anyone else, given that from his many, many, _many_ assassination attempts several months ago had usually resulted in him flying straight through a few of the ship's walls. With the proper display of volume…

"HEY THATCH," he yelled at the wall.

"WHAT?" Thatch's voice was muffled, but still clearly discernable.

"I'M BORED AS FUCK."

"ME, TOO."

"WANNA SING SOMETHING REALLY ANNOYING?"

"LIKE WHAT?"

"I DON'T KNOW; MAKE SOMETHING UP!"

There was a small stretch of silence. Then, "I KNOW A SONG THAT GETS ON EVERYBODY'S NERVES~"

"NO, NO, NO. TOO COMMONPLACE. BE ORIGINAL."

He could just barely hear Thatch clearing his throat and testing a few low notes, deep in his throat. "CON TEEEEE PARTIROOOOOO~. SU NAVI PER MARIIIIII, CHE IO LO SOOOOO NO, NO, NON ESISTONO PIOOOOOOO~!" he sang, in full opera style. He was clearly overdoing it, and as a result, it was pretty damn funny.

"NEW CHOICE!" Ace called, stifling laughter.

Thatch began beatboxing Pachelbel's Canon in D.

Ace had some truly awesome friends. Maybe being grounded wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

><p><span>Short #3: Subtle<span>

-for tish246 and merichuel

"Just relax, Ace. Norma knows what she's doing," Marco said. "She did the tattoos of half the damn crew, and none of them have ended up with their flesh rotting off them."

"Wait, that can happen?" Ace looked highly alarmed.

"Er, let's not talk about that, shall we? But yeah, sometimes it happens," said Thatch.

"Mother of God."

"Great going, Thatch. Great going."

"I'll still do it, Marco, just… No flesh rotting off, please? I heard skin grafts suck," Ace said.

"They do at that," Thatch said. "You ever accidentally dip your elbow in burning hot oil? No? Well, don't. It hurts like a mother. Your skin turns grey, shrivels up, and hangs off your body in strings."

"That is the most disgusting thing I have ever heard out of you, Thatch."

"Hey, the kid needs to know these kinds of things!"

Norma cleared her throat loudly. "You boys done exchanging war stories? I've got a clean needle and no colour cartridge to load. Ace, have you figured out what you want done?"

Ace looked down at his hands, biting his lip. "I was thinking of having it on my back."

"Spinal tattoos kind of hurt, you know," she said. "There's not as much cushioning fat between your skin and your spine."

"I know."

"And you're okay with that?"

"Yeah."

"Okay…" she muttered. "You wanna go big or small?"

"Big, if you please," Ace said unhesitatingly. Marco looked at his newest brother thoughtfully. This was a little unexpected.

"Style? There's what Marco's got. That's what most of the crew tends to get. It's a pretty easy design and damn cool, if I do say so myself. Then there's the-"

"The full symbol, if it's not too much trouble?" Ace asked.

Marco put a hand on his shoulder and leaned down. "You sure? It's going to be… kind of obvious, don't you think?"

"Marco, you disappoint me," Ace said, shaking his head. Marco raised an eyebrow. "Since when have I ever been subtle?"

Marco smiled. "Point taken. I guess, call me when you guys are done in here? C'mon Thatch, let's go."

"'Kay."

"See you, Marco!" Ace said, smiling sheepishly as the door closed.

Marco sighed deeply, but it was a contented one. No. Ace really was never subtle. When he decided something, he decided something. Of course he would go with the least mistakable symbol in the whole damn Grand Line. No artsy nonsense. He loudly and proudly was proclaiming to the rest of the world exactly who he planned on following for the rest of his life. Marco looked down at his own tattoo, splayed across his chest, and wondered if maybe it said about him half of what Ace's tattoo would say about _him_. But then, he thought, they were all brothers anyway, so how much did something like that really matter?

* * *

><p><span>Short #4: Your Village Called<span>

-for Pokepika's Haunt

Okay, so. Best. Surprise. Ever.

Ace had known that around the Christmas season, they were heading out of the Grand Line for a short trip into East Blue. He had felt the familiar pang of nostalgia and also the surprise that always came with realising that – oh shit! – you're another year older. He had just gotten used to telling people he was 19, and he was going to be 20 on New Years' Day. Typical. Still, he hadn't expected anything special, or even to be visiting anywhere in East Blue that he was familiar with.

He had never been happier to be wrong.

They were spending the New Year (and naturally Ace's birthday) in Goa Kingdom. In Ace's hometown, more specifically. _Fuck, yes!_

Now, the people of the Grey Terminal had never seen a pirate ship of anyone legitimately scary. It was the East Blue, for Christ's sake, and nobody from the East Blue got famous by staying in the East Blue. They all went to the Grand Line and either died or stayed there. So, naturally, _when Yonkou Edward Newgate a.k.a. Whitebeard, Lord of the Motherfucking Grand Line and most favoured candidate for the next King of Pirates_ pulled into the harbour with his goddamn _flagship_, there was a fair bit of panicking. Perfectly understandable. Ace vaguely wondered how many of them would shit their pants when they would recognise him. On Whitebeard's ship. As Whitebeard's Second Division Commander. It would be beautiful, he was sure of it.

He had gotten no more than five steps onto the dock pier when he heard the noise he'd been wanting to hear more than anything for the last… God, it had been three years, huh?

"!"

And just like that, he had himself an armful of Luffy.

"Ace! Ace! Ace! Oh my God! AceAceAceAceAceeeeee!" he cried, bouncing up and down. He stopped rubbing his face on Ace's for half a second to look him in the eye. "Hi," he whispered.

"Hi, Lu'," Ace whispered back. They squeaked at each other in unison, identical grins on their faces, then burst out laughing.

"It's been such a long time, huh?" Luffy said. "I'm so glad you're here today of all days! I'm supposed to help Makino unload a whole lot of barrels of sake and I've only got so many hands. Wanna help?"

Ace just stared at his idiot little brother for a few seconds. "Are you fucking kidding me? _That's_ why you're happy to see me? YOU LITTLE-" He made to box Luffy's ears, but knowing what was coming, the younger boy darted out of the way, snickering. "I ACTUALLY MISSED YOU, YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE PUNK!"

"Careful, you're starting to sound like Dadan!" Luffy said.

"AaAaaAAARrgGGGGGGGHHHH! I'm gonna wring your scrawny little neck!"

"Well, this looks promising already," Thatch commented from behind them. "You only know you're home once you've been threatened with grievous bodily harm over something largely insignificant."

"There is some truth in that, actually," Marco said.

"Oh, that's right!" Ace gasped. "I almost forgot. Luffy, this is Marco and this is Thatch. I told you about them in my letters ages ago."

"Hey!" Luffy said, offering a half-salute.

"Hi, there," Thatch said. "Ace has mentioned you more times than I care to count, and from what-all I've heard, you sound like one awesome dude."

"Aww, thanks! I hear you cook." Luffy was suddenly very close and very serious. "How good are you with meat?"

"Luffy, now is not the time," Ace said sternly.

"It's always time for meat."

"It's nine in the morning."

"Am I conscious?"

"…Yes?"

"Then it's time for meat."

"No, it's time for cereals, bread, and fruit."

"Is there meat in any of that? No? Then nobody wants it!"

"You're messed up."

"Thank you! I also heard that… er…" He gestured in Marco's direction.

"You mean Marco?"

"Yes! I heard you turn into a giant bird that's on fire." He started bouncing in place. "I wanna see, I wanna see, I wanna see, I wanna seeeeeeeeee."

"Fine, fine." Marco rolled his eyes, but the smile ruined the exasperated effect he was going for. He blazed with light and transformed into the regal blue bird that Ace knew so well.

"Ohmuhgawd, that's so damn coooool!" Luffy cried. "Can I touch him?" Luffy didn't wait for an answer and started petting Marco's head.

"Er, Luffy, Marco's not exactly… This isn't a petting zoo… He's a feared warrior…" Ace's complaints died away as Marco leaned into Luffy's hand, enjoying it and preening his feathers. "Oh, never mind. So, have you been keeping up with your studies?"

"Eh, sorta. I went to the first Kakalus class, took one look at the board, and never came back."

"…You mean Calculus?"

"Eh, you say Calculus, I say witchcraft… Potato, potahto."

Ace and Thatch grinned at each other.

Thatch leaned over. "Good to be home, isn't it?" he asked quietly.

"You have no idea."

* * *

><p><span>Short #5: One Does Not Simply Write Crossovers<span>

-for Brynna so she'll FINALLY STOP FUCKING BUGGING ME ABOUT IT

Frodo swallowed, somewhat intimidated by speaking in front of so many illustrious people, and in the home of Elrond, no less. He knew all too well that this meeting, small though it may be, would likely determine the fate of all Middle-Earth, and that was precisely why he had to speak up.

"Sir, there is something about the nature of The One Ring that has yet to be mentioned, if indeed it was ever divulged to someone other than me. If I may have leave to present my information?"

"By all means, Frodo Baggins of Shire," Elrond said, inclining his head. "Whatever light you can shed upon this mystery is welcome."

"Why did Sauron grow so much more powerful upon the creation of The One Ring? Did he not have this power before? Yes, binding power within a ring hones it and concentrates it, but all evidence suggests that Sauron had no such powers to be honed or concentrated. The powers he exhibited before and after the creation of The Ring are so completely different, it is plain to see that there must be some inclusion in The Ring that prompted the change and fed it.

"Now, I know my source of information is dubious at best, but information, false or not, is still information, and to act without all the information at our disposal seems most unwise. Therefore, I ask that none of you take these words to be complete truths or complete lies at any time. You may evaluate their worth and accuracy at your own discretion.

"There are other dimensions, other worlds, other universes besides our own. They are all as vast and infinite as our own, and instead of existing like countries, with boundaries that do not overlap, all these worlds exist atop one another an infinite number of times over. What keeps them separate is a frequency that is unique to each world. Everything within that world vibrates at a specific frequency, in perfect unison. Therefore, it is impossible to observe the frequency of your own world because you are moving with it. No matter the reference point, in relation to objects within the world, nothing is moving. In relation to an absence of movement or the frequencies of alternate universes, though, the movement is clear and irrefutable.

"Sauron supposedly found a way to bring a denizen of one of the alternate universes here, to Middle-Earth. This alternate universe supposedly has a frequency similar, but not identical to ours. Waves of motion overlap, thus combining to greatly increase whatever energy and power existed within that denizen. Sauron could not cross the worlds himself, because the conflicting frequencies would eventually shake him to death and kill him, and he loves nothing so much as himself. Instead, he sentenced this denizen of another world to that manner of death, and bound his soul within The One Ring."

"So you mean to say that Sauron has a power source?" Gandalf asked, confirming.

"Yes. What's more, his power source has a consciousness, a will of his own, and he is quite keen to be free of his prison and return to his home. He wishes for The Ring to be destroyed as much as we do, and he offers a way to do so. The Ring possesses the same weaknesses and strengths that he exhibited in life – it is immune to all mortal and elvish weapons, but it is weakened in water and can be destroyed in the magma of a volcano, in this case, most notably Mount Doom," Frodo said.

"You say this entity has a consciousness? Let us meet him," Elrond said. "Then and only then can we assign any truth to your words."

Flames poured out from the centre of The One Ring, previously sitting so innocently upon the raised stone table. The dwarves, Men, and even a few elves, cringed back, throwing up arms or hands to shield their eyes.

As the bright fire faded, in place of a golden band, there sat a young Man, torso unclad and bearing a foreboding mark involving a cross and a skull with an impressive moustache. His dark hair shone and his dark eyes gazed out at the congregation, a smirk on his face and fingers playing with the rim of a bright orange hat perched jauntily on his head.

"Yo," Ace said. "If this is a party, where's all the goddamn booze?"

* * *

><p>(AN): I don't know what the hell I just wrote. DAMN YOU BRYNNA FOR GIVING ME WEIRD-ASS PLOT BUNNIES. Everybody else's made perfect sense. Well, maybe a little less for the My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic prompt. Still.

The suggestion box is still open. There are some prompts I haven't filled yet, and some I don't really know what to do with, so… yeah.


	31. Day 79

And Now Back to Your Regularly Scheduled Program…

Day 79

"You tried to expense account pudding."

"Yes."

"_Pudding_."

"What else do you want me to say here, Marco? It was butterscotch flavour, if it helps."

"Lord, give me strength," Marco whispered, cradling his head in his hands. "Thatch, we give you your funding to pay for ingredients you use in the kitchen to be shared with _everyone_. Meaning, you can't bloody well expense account something that is for your own personal use and play like it never happened. All paperwork goes through me, especially dealing with our funds. What the hell made you think I wasn't going to pick up on the little detail that, oh, by the way, pudding is on the receipt, but we never ate any bloody pudding and it sure isn't in the list of whatever's stocked in the kitchen? It makes me wonder just what the hell else you've… You know what, never mind." Marco dropped his head down on his desk. "Just never mind."

"Marco?" Thatch asked quietly. He stood up, crouching over Marco's prone form. "Yo, Marco? …You haven't caught Ace's narcolepsy, have you?"

"No," came the muffled answer. "Just leave me alone. And get me some of that pudding, if you've got any left."

"…If I share it, then it's for crew consumption and not personal use, meaning you'll be letting me expense account it."

"Yes. Now get me my damn pudding. I paid for it, after all."

"'Kay, boss-man."

Thatch left the room as quietly as he could, taking extra care to have the door make almost no noise and to avoid the creakier floorboards. He went down the hall and trekked up the stairs to the deck, then around Whitebeard's private rooms to the back, where Ace's small mess of blankets and a pillow (all fire-proof, courtesy of Marco) was settled. Ace was sitting amidst the blankets, nose buried in a very thick book of murder mysteries, from the look of it. The beautiful leather binding with gold leaf made Thatch wonder if it hadn't been borrowed from Whitebeard's personal collection.

"Hey, Ace? Can we talk real quick?"

"Hm?" Ace looked up, relocating a toffee-coloured ribbon to mark the page he was on. "You need something?"

"…Yeah. You know how Marco is, with work and all," he began.

"Of course. The man's insane. What's he gone and done now?"

Thatch sighed. "He looks like hell and it's starting to take its toll. I don't think he's getting near enough rest. If he passed out all of a sudden, I don't think I'd even be surprised. He let me get away with putting pudding on the expense account and didn't even curse very much at me. He didn't even raise his voice or _anything_. He's a mess, 'hot' and 'damn' sold separately."

"Criminey. So, I get why it's a problem, but why are you telling me? What can I do about it?" Ace asked.

"I don't know. I don't know what to do and just thought that maybe you'd have an idea."

"I got nothin'. Maybe hit him over the head with a frying pan, strap him to his bed, and force him to rest for a week? That's the best I've got."

"It would never work," Thatch said, shaking his head. "He might be out of it, but attacks never work on him and you know it."

"Yeah," Ace said. "Okay, I admit that one was stupid. But figure out some other way to get him to loosen up enough to sleep. Maybe get him drunk or something? Hell, get him off the ship. A change of pace might do him good, and since we're, what, a few hours out from the next port town…" He shrugged. "Besides, why do you even want to help right now? I mean, what with last week, and the Hannah-that-wasn't-pregnant-with-"

"I get it, I get it! While that may have been an exceedingly uncalled-for bit of ass-holery, he's still my brother. Can't help that." Thatch rubbed his small, dark beard thoughtfully. "He won't leave the ship if he can't justify it to himself, and drinking, to him, isn't really an excuse to leave the ship. I'm wondering…"

Ace felt no small trepidation building in his gut. "What?" he asked with much apprehension.

Thatch smiled, which made it all the worse. "I think I might have a plan to get him off-ship. Hang on; I've got to sell Oyaji on it. See if he'll agree to making a quick pit stop." He winked and dashed away.

"Thatch? _Thatch_? Thatch, what the hell are you planning? You answer me right now, young man!" Thatch didn't answer, just chuckled.

He could officially take down two flaming birds with one stone.

* * *

><p>"Dude, we have to," Thatch said.<p>

"This is madness," Marco said. "I mean, I agree with you, and I still think it's madness."

"Ace needs a girlfriend and you know it," Thatch wheedled.

"But who says we can find one he actually would like? Do we know his taste in women? Hell, when have we ever seen him show _any_ interest in _anyone_?"

Thatch grabbed Marco by the shoulders. "That's just it! No wonder he's so frigid and unreachable when it comes to joining up! He's frustrated, I'm telling you. And besides, he's eighteen! He doesn't know what he wants in women, so it's up to us to guide him down the correct path. The alternative is getting him a hooker, and let's face it, that's kind of creepy."

Marco nodded emphatically. "Okay, that bit makes sense. And no, we are never going anywhere within a half-mile radius of any red-light districts. I remember what happened last time. Vista still has nightmares."

"Hey, for the last time, that was an accident. I didn't know there would be nuns."

"And I suppose the bomb threat by those escaped circus clowns was unforeseen, as well?"

"Yes! Why do you never believe me about these things?"

"I wonder(!)" Marco muttered.

"Either way, Oyaji's already on board with this one. We're on our way and I've already called this nice girl. She's my sister Theresa's boyfriend's room-mate's ex-girlfriend's twin sister. Her name's Helena. She's a good girl. Private school. She knits scarves and plushes for orphans in her spare time. Trust me on this one."

"Why does that not comfort me at all?"

"_Orphans_, Marco."

"Oh good," Marco said, "they'll have something to talk about, then."

"You're a pessimist."

"I'm ignoring you. How long ago did we change course?"

Thatch checked a pocket watch that he had forgotten to wind and winced. "Well, I don't know exactly, but I'm sure it was more than two hours ago. We should be there by now." They both left Marco's office/living quarters and went out on deck, Marco coming close to stumbling from the exhaustion he was quite grateful Thatch had yet to bring up to his face. Sometimes Thatch could be annoyingly caring a person, and there was only room for one mother hen on this ship, no bird jokes intended.

"Hey, is that it?" Marco murmured. Sure enough, a collection of flickering lights illuminated the horizon. The island in question was a late-autumn kind of island, where night fell sooner, so even though it was just barely six in the afternoon, the sky was already darkened.

"Yep," said Thatch. "Civilisation. Just when we thought we'd escaped it entirely. Let's go break the news to Ace."

"Break _what_ news to Ace?" Ace's voice said darkly just behind them. Thatch whirled around, pasting on a massive grin.

"Hiya, there, sweet thang. Just letting you know we-"

"_He_ did. Not me. I'm an uninvolved bystander," Marco interjected.

"-_We_ planned something nice for you."

Ace sighed. "Not only is that very non-specific, I've learned that your definitions of certain words like 'nice' vary widely with mine. What the hell is actually going on?"

"Oh, a dinner date. Nothing big," Thatch said.

"_What_?" Ace cried. "You did _what_?"

"Told you," Marco said.

"Listen! She's a nice girl, her name is Helena… you know. Just loosen up! Relax! Make meaningless small talk! Make up an occupation because she sure as hell doesn't know you're a pirate. Maybe tell her you do volunteering at rescue shelters for abused animals or something."

"God damn it, Thatch! I'm warning you! I'll fall asleep in the middle of the meal!"

"You've got narcolepsy! You can't control when you fall asleep, so ha!"

"I can fake it pretty convincingly."

"It's at eight! I already got you reservations at this nice restaurant – not too expensive, just right for a first date! Ooh, you have to get dressed! Let me help!" Thatch slung an arm around Ace's shoulders, spun him around, and hurried him down to the lower decks. "Listen," he whispered, "I'm doing this as an excuse to get Marco off-ship. While you're away, I'll get him into a bar, get him drunk, get him passed out, and then we can all three of us haul ass back here to get him some rest. Sound agreeable?"

"Wait, so you made up the whole 'date' thing?" Ace asked hopefully.

"Nope! That was legit."

"You're an arse."

"Awww, but you love me."

* * *

><p>Thatch and Marco were at the bar nearest the restaurant (<em>La Petite Souris, <em>which was a French-ass name no matter how you spun it) where Ace was having what was most likely the most awkward night of his young life. Naturally, the two of them spent it drinking and joking the poor sod.

"I have to admit, though," Marco slurred, "she looked really nice. Never thought I'd see the day when a blonde girl wasn't bleached out by wearing that burgundy-purply-whatever-the-hell-you-call-it colour."

"She was pretty white, huh? Nordic like nobody's business," Thatch said. "I keep forgetting normal people look like that. Everybody's dark from the suntans out at sea."

"'Cept Selma."

"Oh, God, _Selma_. She's white bread with mayo, though, bless her little albino heart. She's fuckin' _crazy_, though, so you can't really put her in a category entitled 'normal people'," Thatch countered.

Marco laughed and slapped Thatch on the back, almost missing. His head was resting on his arm, which in turn was on the counter. He was staring at his empty shot glasses as though they were the most beautiful things he'd seen in his life. If ever there were an indicator for how tired the man was, it was this. Normally, Marco could hold his liquor fairly well. It normally took him a good eight to ten shots to get him a normal level of drunk. When he was tired, though, his body's processing of the alcohol took a severe dip and made him all the more drunk all the quicker. If he started snorting when he laughed any time soon, Thatch was going to have to get him the hell out of there, because that was usually the indicator of the point of no return for Marco.

Luckily, Thatch saw Ace entering the bar in the mirror behind the counter.

"Hey, Ace!" He waved the young man over, pointing at the inebriated Marco. "Wanna help me schlep the drunk?"

"Nope! That honour falls to you, my good scheme-hatching, prank-pulling man," Ace said.

"Fine, fine." Thatch slung one of Marco's arms over his own shoulders and heaved him up. Marco didn't seem to mind too much, and even had the presence of mind to try to stand up. He failed, of course, but it was the thought that counted. "Sooo? How did it go?"

"Oh, it went great!" Ace said, grinning. "I only fell asleep in my food twice, and both times I managed to miss the sauce-related portions."

"That's good! Did you kiss her good night and everything?"

Ace gave him an appalled look. "No! We agreed it was damn weird to act like actual dates, so we decided to just be good friends. Did you know she knits tiny adorable plush animals? She even made a platypus and gave it to me." Ace pulled out a small orange thing of yarn that, to a sober person, might actually resemble an animal. "We're going to be pen pals if I can swing that aboard a ship."

"You _do_ know what 'date' entails, right?" asked Thatch, unimpressed.

"Yes. I'm not bloody stupid. I'm asexual. There happens to be a difference."

"Shit, really? You're asexual?"

"Yes," Ace said. "I'm basically incapable of liking someone that way. I mean, I can feel a great amount of affection… but never sexual attraction. Call me weird. Everyone always does."

"No, I won't call you weird just for that," Thatch said. "I just could swear you liked looking at women."

"I do! I'm not going to lie. I like looking at women. They're beautiful, and I can appreciate beautiful things, just like I can appreciate the skill involved in dancing in a leotard and high heels like that one lady who wants somebody to 'put a ring on it'… I just am not sexually attracted to it."

"I'll be switched," Thatch murmured. "I wish you had said something earlier."

"Well, you didn't give me much of a chance to get a word in edgewise, now did you?" Ace said. Thatch had to give him that one.

They had arrived at the Moby Dick, the loading bay still opened out on to the dock.

"Well," Ace said, yawning, "see you in the morning, I guess."

"G'night!" Thatch called. He glanced down at Marco, only to find his friend, commander, and brother sleeping for the first time in a long time. He smiled slightly. "If I were a dick, I'd draw all over your face right now in permanent marker. I'm thinking you need a nice handlebar moustache… perhaps a monocle. But no. God damn my horrible episodes of being a good person."

He trudged his way to Marco's room, smiling all the way.

As he passed Whitebeard's cabin on the way to the staircase, he saw the illumination of a candle (or perhaps Ace's personal lighting) from within, accompanied by fierce, by low debating. He could just discern that they were discussing the book he had seen Ace reading earlier that day.

"Is it just me," Thatch asked the unconscious Marco, "or does Ace seem a lot happier talking to Oyaji than he does talking with anyone else?"

* * *

><p>(AN): This might be kind of like a triple prompt but not. There were three different prompts that I kind of liked, but didn't really know what to do with. Merichuel mentioned narcolepsy problems, sparkles mentioned Ace meeting a girl, and SilverCeleb mentioned Marco being overworked and taking a break. Yes, technically I didn't really do any of these prompts the way they probably intended for them to go. SilverCeleb's I might end up doing properly. The narcolepsy I will try to remember to work in more consistently.

The problem is the 'girl' issue. I said there would be no pairings and I kind of meant it. (Selma and Joshua getting married is not included in that, because it's barely mentioned and let's face it, who cares about my OCs?) I can't stand fics where they pair a main character with an OC. I hate it, hate it, hate it so much it makes my teeth hurt. I can't do it. I'm sorry. This is the closest I can get you. I'm pretty asexual myself, so I can really relate to most of the One Piece characters who are surrounded by attractive people, but never actually think of involving themselves sexually. Yes, I can appreciate that you're pretty, or you're handsome, or you're really nice. Doesn't mean I want to date you.

I keep doing longer chapters than I mean to by accident. Whoops. Consider it a giant thank-you for everyone who reviewed!


	32. BONUS:  Requests 6 and 7

**Just skip this first one if you don't like reading what is, essentially, a book review written by Ace. The second one is much more interesting, anyway.**

Short #6: Great Minds

-for Pokepika's Haunt and also myself because I really did want to write this

Ace knocked on Whitebeard's cabin door as loudly and rudely as he could, lest he be mistaken for anyone else. A booming voice gave him leave to enter.

Ace went straight for the chair in front of Whitebeard's desk, not even bothering with any pleasantries. "Came to give you back your book." He placed the beautifully bound leather book on the desk with reverence. He may show disrespect for Whitebeard in every other way, but books were different. Books were sacred. If you injured a book, you were going to burn in the very lowest level of Hell usually reserved for child molesters, corporate executives, and people who talked in theatre.

Whitebeard actually looked a little surprised. "You're finished already? That one's over two thousand pages long and you only borrowed it this morning, you know."

Ace grinned carelessly. "Oh, I didn't finish it yet. I mean, I want to. I'd like to borrow it again later, if at all possible. But seriously, somebody like me keeping it overnight? That might be what some might term 'unwise'," he said.

"You haven't set anything on fire in your sleep yet that I know of," Whitebeard said.

"It's a risk I don't much feel like taking. Especially with somebody else's property."

"Thoughtful of you," Whitebeard said, smiling at Ace's annoyed look. Ace always seemed to bristle whenever the Yonkou thought well of him. Or at least, he did so outwardly. If he was correct, the inward reaction was quite different. "But at any rate, how far did you get? Did you like it?"

Ace scratched his neck. "I got through Study in Scarlet and I'm almost done with Sign of the Four."

"Still quite a feat for less than a day of reading. You're fast. Did you actually comprehend any of it in the process?"

"Of course I did, you old coot!" Ace growled. "I can read anything and understand it, even if this was on the dense side."

"'Dense', eh? Coming from a man who reads history and science textbooks for fun, that actually means something. But you haven't told me whether or not you liked it. You've certainly read enough to get a good feel for Doyle's style. What did you think?"

Ace huffed out a sigh. "The guy is _not_ my favourite mystery writer. Holmes is a great character. I love Holmes. Why the hell do we not see too much of him! They talk for so bloody long about the motivations of the killers – they give so much backstory! I don't care about some idiot bloke who killed men because of some Mormon camp scandal! I cannot possibly bring myself to care less! I wanted to see more of Holmes, and I didn't. You'd think the titular character of the series would see a little more action, wouldn't you?"

"Was that all that bothered you?" Whitebeard asked.

"No. In The Study in Scarlet he did it a lot and it pissed me off – he skimped on the deductions. Now, he did better in Sign of the Four, I'll grant him that. I thought the deductions about the midget acrobat were brilliant. Loved that bit. But in Scarlet? Much less to go on. I like having all my facts presented to me. I like it when the work isn't legwork, it's brainwork. Something you'd have to think about to understand. In Scarlet, it was all, 'Let's ask these people and wait to hear back.' 'Let's get lackeys to do all our work for us because thinking isn't what anyone goes for these days.' It's annoying. You're Sherlock Holmes, for Christ's sake! Stun me with your brilliance! I'm glad I kept reading 'til Sign of the Four, because I feel like that's when Doyle broke out the big guns once he figured out that fans actually would be receptive to what he wrote. I feel like he tiptoed around the issue of writing logic and deductions because he thought it wouldn't appeal to anyone and no-one would want to read it. Then he got a carte blanche from the public and –" Ace mimicked an explosion with his hands, complete with real fire, "-boom. We get the Sherlock Holmes Doyle meant to write in the first place. The _good_ one."

"Did you ever think that maybe Doyle was being realistic?" Whitebeard asked accusingly. "Maybe not every case you come across is going to involve some brilliant criminal mastermind! There aren't that many of them running around, you see."

"But that's just it," Ace countered. "You only need the one. Moriarty. I know I haven't gotten to him yet, but… He's the only real criminal mastermind you need! Just have him tell other, more minor criminals how to do their dirty work, and you have a complicated case with an uncomplicated perpetrator. Easy. Call it something of a Deus Ex Machina for the writer – one explanation to get everything to make sense that saves him the trouble of wrapping it up properly – but you have to admit that it would be a very successful plot device!"

"Doyle didn't know he'd have such a following at that point. If he'd even thought up Moriarty at the time he wrote Study in Scarlet, I'd be much surprised. It was only intended to be a singular short story. He only wrote more because people asked him to, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Ace said. "I'm not quite certain what drew people in, is all I'm saying. I mean, look at the writing style!"

"What about it?"

"It's old-fashioned. Hate to say it, but there it is. It's stuffy. It reads a little like a history textbook. I could understand it if it were from Holmes's point of view, but from Watson's? No. Watson would be a little bit more… sensational in his depiction of events, I think."

"Watson was a military man, though. Maybe he got used to writing in the style of reports and Doyle was just brilliant enough to incorporate that into his work."

"The man writes short stories about his crime-solving flatmate and publishes them. How militarily rigid do you expect him to _be_?"

"Fine! Have it your way," Whitebeard said, sitting back in his chair.

"Oh, I intend to," Ace said. "I just prefer Ellery Queen, is all."

"Ellery Queen? It's hardly classic."

"Yeah, well, 'classic' doesn't mean 'good'; it just means 'old'."

"You have a problem with old, you little brat?"

"Well, maybe I do! Ellery Queen is a better read than Sherlock Holmes. There! I said it! What are you going to do about it?" Ace taunted. Both men had slowly risen from their chairs, staring each other in the face, although due to the height difference, it was a little difficult.

Whitebeard smiled inwardly. He could see the hint of a smile around the corners of Ace's mouth and in how his eyes were damn near on fire. This was how Ace lived. Not through arguing. Through _debate_. Actually, he just liked talking, and debate was the only way for him to have a pleasant exchange with Whitebeard that didn't sound very pleasant at all. Ace could pretend to be antagonistic and actually have fun discussing a common interest with someone whose opinion he respected. Two birds with one stone. He could keep face, but do as he secretly pleased. Whitebeard mildly wondered if Ace knew he was on to him. Another thing Ace liked was to pretend to be unfathomable, when really he was exceptional simple to figure out. Best not to disillusion him on either count.

And because of this, even if he agreed, Whitebeard couldn't agree with Ace out loud. The more he pissed Ace off, the more bonding time they got in. It was strange but… well, what in the wide world wasn't?

* * *

><p><span>Short #7: Fuck Canon with a Rake<span>

-for FlyingMonkiesAttack, Wolfguide, lilyoftheval5, Hi Hikari no Kaze, Shiary, and basically anyone else who wanted Ace and Sabo to meet.

Sabo looked at the coffin, freshly lifted out of the grave, and tried to steel himself for what was to come. If everything went according to plan, it would all be worth it. All of it. If it didn't go according to plan… Well, he'd have a few more nightmares, but otherwise be no worse off.

"Lieutenant?" asked Oslo, a very shy giant of a man. His soft voice, such an ill match for his enormous frame, normally made Sabo smile, but not today. Not right now. "Sir, do you want me to-"

"No, thanks. I got this," Sabo muttered. "Actually, if you two could leave for a moment, I'd appreciate it."

"Yes, sir." Oslo turned and made shooing motions to the other young man with him. The three of them were alone on the island, and Sabo knew both of the men with him would never tell a soul… but this was far too personal.

This was his big brother. His all-but-twin.

He pulled a small knife, mostly blunted from industrial use, from the inside of his boot and carefully wedged it under the lid of the coffin. He worked his way around, wiggling the blade each time to maybe get it to open. At last, he made headway. The lid moved a little when he moved his knife. He carefully withdrew it and leaned over the coffin, a hand securely on each side of the lid. Okay, so he couldn't lift that crap to save his life. He hadn't wanted to do this, but, well, desperate times and all that. He drew his leg back, then put all of his weight into shoving the lid off with his foot. He fell on his ass. He was almost too scared of what he would see to get up. But no. He owed it to his brother to sit the hell up and see this through.

The first thing Sabo noticed was how peaceful Ace's face was. Also, it was clean. When they were boys on Mount Corvo, or running around the Grey Terminal, Ace had never been clean. Baths were a nuisance most of the time, and even when they bathed in the rivers, it wasn't as though the rivers themselves were exactly spotless. Other than that… Ace hadn't changed much. He still had more freckles than quite seemed to fit on his face. He hadn't changed his hair at all. His nose was still sharp enough to filet something. He could've been sleeping.

He had promised himself he wasn't going to cry.

He wasn't going to cry.

He wasn't going to cry.

…Too late.

Sabo's forehead connected with the edge of the coffin. He stared into the dirt with vision that was rapidly blurring with tears, breathing heavily, and shaking. If he let out a choked sob of his brother's name, there was no-one else around to know.

He just sat there, staring at the dirt and trying to get himself the hell together. The last thing he wanted was to call the guys over for what they were here to do and have his voice break when he was doing it. He wished he had a mirror to check and see if his eyes were red.

He raised his head slowly, that feeling of dread stronger than ever, and looked back in the coffin. Sabo drew back the beautiful shroud covering the rest of Ace's body and tried to evaluate the damage objectively.

He only saw one wound, terrible though it was, straight through Ace's stomach. Naturally, there were other scratches and bruises that remained, but nothing serious. Well, that might be a broken wrist, but other than that… there was only the one mortal wound.

"EMRYS!" Sabo yelled. "OSLO! YOU CAN COME BACK NOW!"

He could hear the pattering of feet not too far away and didn't bother turning around. Emrys got there first.

"Do you think you can do it?" asked Sabo anxiously.

"Gimme a second," Emrys said. He scanned Ace's body with an expert eye. "So long as that's the only wound I've got to deal with? I expect so. We won't know 'til we try."

"But you think there's a good chance?"

"Yeah. Or at least, that's what I would say if this were a regular wound. I've never worked on somebody who got blasted with _magma_, so… first time for everything? I make no guarantees, Lieutenant. You know that. But otherwise, I say it's an easy fix. We may as well get started. Oslo, could you be a dear and fetch me my-?"

Oslo held out a black bag.

"My God, you're good," Emrys muttered. "Now, I've got the rest of this well in hand, so you can both go fret somewhere else. Just not out of earshot, if you please. I'll let you know when I'm about to do _it_."

xxx

The first thing Ace heard was Sabo's rough voice telling him he was a jackass.

"Hiya, Sabo," he muttered weakly.

"You don't seem all that surprised."

"Why would I be? We're both dead. Makes perfect sense."

Sabo was laughing at him. Why was he laughing? Why did the noise sound so… heavy? Actually, Sabo's voice sounded altogether rougher than Ace ever remembered it being, save for when he cried. Had Sabo been crying? Why?

"Actually," Ace said, "what are you doing here? I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be allowed where you ended up going. Am I gonna get evicted soon?"

"You're not in Heaven _or_ Hell, Ace. Open your goddamn eyes. Imbecile."

"I don't want to."

"You're being contrary."

"It's bright out."

"Oh, waaaah. Of all the things you have to gripe about, you pick how bright it is? Personally, I'd have gone for bitching about the gaping hole that used to be in my gut, but then, that's just me."

"Holy crap!" Ace cried, eyes flying open.

"Now he remembers," Sabo said, rolling his eyes. "You're retarded some days, you know."

"Sabo. Wait, Sabo? Sabo, what are you…?" Ace grabbed the side of the box he was in (holy shit it might've been a coffin oh God just how badly did he screw up?) and tried to heave himself up, only to be met with a searing pain in his abdomen that made him scream and fall back down, clutching both arms around his middle.

"Not yet! Not yet! You're not cleared for movement, yet, Ace." Sabo's voice was a lot closer now, but Ace couldn't see with his eyes clenched shut in pain. A warm hand closed around one of Ace's, and he tried to focus on it as best he could. He tried to relax, despite the horrible throbbing that had begun to spread throughout his whole body. "You're okay, you're okay. Just don't move around too much yet, okay? You'll be okay."

"…Sabo?" Ace asked, voice weaker than ever and kind of hating how it sounded.

"Yeah?" Sabo said.

"…What the hell are you doing here?"

He could just see Sabo grinning like a loon. "I, dear brother, am saving your ass."

"Why?"

"For what reason does anyone do anything? For shits and grins."

"No…" Ace opened both eyes fully, staring his seemingly-long-dead brother in the face. "What happened that I needed saving?"

Sabo slowly looked away and blinked what Ace really hoped weren't tears. "…You were kind of dead, big brother."

"'Were'?"

Sabo heaved a sigh. "Yeah. 'Were'. Hey, Emrys?" Another face, a very unfamiliar one, poked over the side of what Ace now knew for certain was definitely a coffin. The young man's face almost entirely consisted of his cheekbones and _by God, those ears_. He could achieve _flight_ with those monstrosities. "Ace, this is Emrys. He's a surgeon, and the one who sewed you up, but he's also got this weird Devil Fruit ability that can bring people back to life."

Emrys cut in. "Myrddin Emrys. Nice to meet you now that you're not all corpse-ified and gross. Basically, here's how it goes: I do my thing, and you're one of the undead. Congratulations. Your body will function exactly how it did when you were alive with one exception: in order to continue to live, you need me to re-do what I did once about every week. Sorry to say it, but it's better than being dead, now isn't it? There's another catch. If you go too long without seeing me, you'll naturally just drop dead somewhere. This is important. If you go back to being dead, for any reason, I cannot bring you back to life again. If you get wounded again, if you get sick, get an infection, if there's an accident, if you don't see me every week… You will die and there's nothing anyone on the face of this planet can do about it. Your body will heal slower, but since I understand from your brother here that your bloodlines ensure you used to heal at a damn-near godly pace in the first place, you ought to heal at a rate the rest of us might term, 'normal'. Not a big loss, there, but you're definitely going to have to be more careful. Also, fair warning: you don't have any Devil Fruit powers any-more. Death is life's big reset button, and that includes any superhuman powers you obtain from a sketchy fruit bar. You'll find you can swim again, as well. I don't know if you can eat another fruit now or what, because no-one's ever tried it. No-one _I've_ brought back at least."

"Just how many people have you brought back, exactly?" Ace mumbled.

"Classified. I can count all of them on one hand, though, if it helps."

"Ace," Sabo said, "Emrys's ability goes beyond what we're comfortable being public knowledge. Officially, he's an innocent civilian. He's not a pirate, he's never broken any laws-"

"Not true. Stole some gummy worms when I was eight."

"-and the point is, we don't want anyone to know he can do this. If he dies, so does everyone he brought back. Or, rather, they're given a maximum of a week to live. You can never tell anyone that this happened. Not even Luffy."

"Especially not Luffy," Ace said. "He's shit at keeping secrets."

"There's that; yes."

"…Sabo?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm kind of conspicuous. Where am I going to go?"

Sabo sighed. "There's yet another catch. Sorry. Don't groan at me like that; it's not that bad. For a few years, at least, there's this friend I know who recently was busted out of prison – by Luffy, incidentally – who can help you stay under any and all radars for a while. Fellow by the name of Ivankov. He can change your looks enough that no-one will ever-"

"Oh, Jesus Christ, I've heard of this guy," Ace groaned. "You're gonna make me a goddamn girl, aren't you?"

"I said sorry."

"You didn't mean it, though."

"Nope. Not a bit. Ace, you're alive. Luffy's alive. That is all I want, and if making you my big sister for a few years keeps you alive, then by God, that's what's going to happen, whether you like it or not," Sabo said, for once completely serious.

"…You're right. I'm sorry."

"Yeah. You should be."

"Wait. What happened to that whole bit where you were dead?"

Sabo just cleared his throat and pointed at Emrys, who smiled and waved helpfully.

"Well, goddamn."

"Yeah. Pretty much."

Ace wrapped both hands around Sabo's, which was still in with him. "Then I guess we have a shit-load to get caught up on, huh?"

Sabo smiled. "I suppose so. I suppose so."

* * *

><p>(AN): Now 140% longer! (lol Russian joke please don't shoot me) I liked Sabo's character okay at first… But then I watched the episodes in the anime where he showed up and realised that his voice actor was NARUTO. HOLY MOTHER OF GOD. Fell in love. Straight-up fell in love.

And, yes, mythology buffs, Myrddin Emrys is, in-fact, the Welsh name of Merlin Ambrosius, legendary wizard and teacher to King Arthur. BECAUSE THAT'S JUST HOW WE ROLL. And yes, I described him as Colin Morgan, the actor playing the titular character in BBC's drama, _Merlin_. Point of interest: Merlin is also my sister's cat's name.

_**I APOLOGISE SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO MUCH FOR NEXT CHAPTER. I'M SORRY. I'M SO SORRY. I HAD TO WRITE IT. I'M SORRY.**_


	33. June 7th, World Year 1522

I cried when I was writing this chapter. I hope you now realise exactly why I said I was sorry in last chapter's footnote.

June 7th, World Year 1522

"So… Is that what I think it is?" Ace asked, gesturing to the peculiar thing in Thatch's hand.

"Dunno. Might be a fake, but somehow, I doubt it," he said, grinning. "I can feel it in my bones, you know? This kind of… humming, I guess? Am I making sense, or does it sound like I've been hitting the sauce early?"

"You _did_ hit the sauce early."

"Hardly the point. Answer the question!"

Ace just smiled. "Nah, it sounds exactly like the Mera Mera Fruit. I can feel a little something from it, but it's not as loud as mine was."

"Same here," Marco said. "Although it's been more years for me than I care to count."

"It's only been two for me. Wait a tic, how long ago was this, Marco? When did you become a freak of nature?" Ace asked.

Marco just smiled at him. "I was flying long before you were born and let's just leave it at that, shall we?"

Thatch laughed. "I've tried asking him myself, Ace. It's yet to work. Maybe we can stalk him a bit and find somebody who knew him when he was little. Someone who could tell us just how old he is. Personally, I think he's in his fifties. Men don't lose as much hair as Marco has until their fifties or so."

"I'm going to feed you your own teeth, Thatch."

"Oh, I really wish you wouldn't. But really, you're such a woman. Only women fudge their numbers as much as I imagine you do."

"I think he's secretly Oyaji's age," Ace said. "Maybe he just stopped aging after he went all 'mythical bird' on us?"

"Maybe he's older!"

"Maybe he's ancient!"

"Maybe he was around when the dinosaurs were here!"

"Maybe he's the original Tenryuubito and he's too bashful to tell us!"

"I'm going to kill both of you. Thought you ought to know."

"How kind of him to inform us."

"Ever the gentleman."

"Quite."

"Ever so."

"Indubitably."

"Where's a monocle when I need one?"

"I'll fetch the champagne glasses and fake moustaches."

"Deal."

"All right, all right, that's it," Marco growled. "Being completely serious now. Thatch, what are you going to do with it?" He pointed at the oddly proportioned (and patterned) fruit Thatch was tossing from one hand to the other rather carelessly. "You know according to ship code, it's finder's keepers on those things. Want to become a freak of nature like the rest of us? Chance your luck?"

Thatch thought for a moment, chewing a lip. "…I don't think I will."

"What, really?" Ace asked, a little shocked. "But dude, _you heard it_. You said you heard it calling in your bones, right? Surely that's got to mean something! Maybe this is the one that was always meant to be yours, hm?"

Thatch shook his head. "I'm not a big believer in fate, destiny, God's work, or whatever the hell else you feel like calling it. Plus, I rather like the way I am right now. I'm hardly a helpless babe without these fancy powers or whatever, and – hell, I don't even know what kind of fruit it is! Why the hell would I stick my hand in a magical grab-bag that's going to curse me out of the seas forevermore when I don't bloody need it?"

"So what are you going to do with it?" Marco asked.

"I can't just chuck it," Thatch said. "I honestly don't know. I think I've got plenty of time to figure it out though. I'll just keep it in my room or something until I figure out how I'm going to play it. Or, you know what? I should sell it! These things sell for a shit-ton of cash on the black market, yeah? I've been eyeing this lovely set of professional kitchen knives since the dawn of time. Carbon steel. There's this rippling along the blade that's just beautiful and really, that's how you know it's the good shit, because that's from how many times they beat and fold the steel over and over again. Strongest stuff you're ever going to find and it keeps an edge, provided you know how to take care of it properly. Beautiful. Artwork that's dangerous. My favourite. Good God, I'm practically salivating just thinking about it."

"We all know of your unhealthy love of knives, Thatch."

"You don't understand," he protested. "These are not knives. These are works of goddamn _art_. What part of that did I make unclear?"

"I'm going to bed," Marco groaned. "The last thing I need after a long day is hearing Thatch go on about kitchen utensils."

"My God, man, you do not use such boorish terms to describe my babies! You hear me?" Thatch cried, genuinely distraught.

Ace clapped him on the back encouragingly. "Don't worry, mate. He's just tired and he probably wants his tea or something. He's still on that diet, you know, and the more you talk about food, even if it's just the preparation thereof, the more he's going to hate life."

"This is why I don't believe in diets," Thatch said. "Look at Teach, here! Now there's a man who wouldn't say no to a porterhouse, and what harm has it done him? Gah, I've had it. I guess I'm turning in for the night, as well."

"Really? Rather early for you," Ace said.

"Well, I've got to start looking for a buyer in the morning, haven't I? Besides, if nothing else, Marco was right about it being a long day. I fought people, you know. With swords. I was rather good at it, you see."

"Yes, yes, I know. See you in the morning!"

"Good night!" Thatch said.

"Er, wait just a moment."

"Hm?"

"How early were you planning on getting up?" he asked.

Thatch checked his pocket watch. "Well, it's ten-and-thirty now, so I ought to wake up around… six? Seven? Something like that."

"All right. I'm planning on sleeping in 'til eleven or so-"

"Still haven't outgrown being a bloody teenager?"

"Shut up. Point is, when you fill up my water bottle, can you wait until ten-ish? I like it to be still a bit cold by the time I get to it."

"No problem. Have a nice night!" Thatch called.

"You too!" Ace said.

They parted ways to head for their respective cabins, not noticing the eerie gleam in the eye of the man perched on a barrel, pretending to be looking out over the ocean. They also both managed to miss the smile, which was missing teeth, that would have chilled them to their very bones.

* * *

><p>Thatch couldn't sleep. Okay, so he normally went to sleep around one or two in the morning. Why couldn't he just bloody well fall asleep? He was tired, so why was his brain so active? He hadn't had coffee. He hadn't even had <em>sugar<em>, for God's sake. The only thing for it, as far as he knew, was a warm glass of milk, as per his mother's shared wisdom. He'd never used the method himself, but then, there was a first time for everything. Maybe it would work. You just never knew about these things.

He opened his door slowly, peering out into the darkened hall. It seemed, with the Commanders of the First, Second, and Fourth Divisions retiring for an early night, the rest of the crew followed suit. It really was amazing what peer pressure could do. Thatch was rather grateful all the lights were out. He hated it when his eyes were used to darkness and all of a sudden, a bright flame left spots in his eyes, so it was a good thing no lanterns were lit in the hall. He could find his way around without them. He just had to be careful not to trip over Ace's personal water bottle, left out so that Thatch could fill it later from the kitchen's precious supply of fresh water.

He also knew his kitchen well enough to navigate it completely blind. He fetched a bit of milk from the icebox and began heating it in a very small pot over the lowest flame he could manage. The light stung ever-so-slightly, but it was only a soft blue flame, and was actually rather comforting. Perhaps it was stupid, but with friends like Ace and Marco, Thatch was of the firm opinion that fire meant safety. His guardian angels were alight with something other than holiness, after all. He chuckled at his own blasphemy and grabbed a little bit of baking chocolate and sugar to melt in with the milk. No-one was going to be awake to judge him, after all.

He stirred the concoction one last time and dumped the whole mess (delicious mess though it was) into a mug and went out on the deck. God, but the stars were beautiful out tonight. Normally, when he was up this late, it was because he was so sloshed, the stars were too blurry to really make out. Now they were clear and bright, and with a light summery breeze (that for once fit the season), some hot chocolate, and a peaceful silence that was only broken by the creaking of the mast, the flapping of sails, and the far-away _shhhh_ of the waves, everything felt… perfect.

There was a creaking behind him that he was quite certain had nothing to do with the mast; too low. Footstep, most likely.

Without turning around, he smiled and greeted his mystery early-morning guest.

The knife in his back cut his greeting short.

Thatch's eyes widened, the breath catching in his throat. The mug fell from his hands, dropping to the seas below with only the smallest of splashes.

"Who…?"

Thatch could feel his knees about to give out on him. He stumbled back a little ways, shaking uncontrollably, before swaying and pitching forward to land on the cold wood of the deck.

There was cold laughter. He could just barely recognise it.

"Sorry, _Taichou_," Teach's voice said, dripping with sarcasm and mockery, "but things don't always go according to plan for people like us, now do they?"

Thatch tried to get words out. He could feel the blood pooling beneath him, within him, welling in his chest and lungs. Choked nonsense was all he could get out.

Teach giggled to himself a little more, sounding manic more than anything, and walked away quickly, eager to claim his prize from Thatch's rooms. As such, he didn't hear Thatch's last whispered words.

"…_I forgive you, brother_."

* * *

><p>Ace woke to Marco's frenzied banging and screaming on his cabin door. He jumped from his bed and attempted to aim for the door, still a little off-kilter from sleep.<p>

"Ace! Goddamn it, Ace, answer me!"

"I got it! Just give me a minute to find some pants!" Ace said.

"You don't understand; there is no time! It's-" It seemed like Marco couldn't quite choke out the words, and more than anything else, that made Ace's blood freeze. "-It's Thatch," Marco finally said.

"Oh, God," Ace whispered. "I'll be right out."

"Please."

He didn't bother with shoes, or anything that he hadn't been wearing that night when he'd gone to sleep. He dashed from his room, nearly tripping over the full water bottle just outside his door.

He ran out to the deck as fast as he could manage, but ground to a shocked halt when he saw.

Mother of God.

No.

It was impossible.

This sort of shit wasn't possible. It had to be a game. A prank. Which was rather an odd thought, because Thatch's pranks always were funny, and this most certainly wasn't.

"Th-Thatch?" he said.

"Ace! Ace, you're up," Marco said, rushing over. "Please, I have to ask you, did you see Teach last night?"

"Teach?" he asked numbly, still staring at the prone form of his brother, lying face-down in a pool of his own blood, knife hilt gleaming from where it sat in his spine.

"He did this. Please, we need to know."

Ace's breaths came faster, heavier. They were more short gasps of a man going into shock than actual respiration. "A-and 'this' is…?"

Marco held Ace by the shoulders, trying to meet the younger man's eyes. "Ace, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Thatch was… Thatch was murdered last night."

"No! No, no, no, no, _no_," Ace gasped out. "No, you've got it wrong. We saw him! Just last night! Me 'n' Thatch were – he was right there! You were right there! This isn't happening!"

"_ACE_!" Marco barked. "CALM DOWN!"

"Calm down?" Ace asked, voice suddenly cold and low. "You want me to _calm_ _down_? OUR BROTHER IS LYING DEAD AND YOU WANT ME TO CALM DOWN?"

"Yes," Marco hissed in Ace's ear. "You are a Division Commander and you need to pull yourself the fuck together-"

"Oh, like you are? I thought we all were friends! Did you not care about the man at-"

"I did!"

"_Well, then why are you taking this so calmly_?"

"_I'M NOT_!" Marco screamed. Both froze for a moment. Marco let go of Ace's shoulders slowly, looking at the floor. "…I'm sorry, Ace."

Ace didn't say anything.

Marco took it as leave to continue. "Teach was missing this morning, along with that Devil Fruit Thatch found yesterday. There's an emergency skiff missing as well, so… We can put two and two together, I think."

Ace still said nothing. His eyes didn't even move from the knot in the wood of the deck at which he'd been staring for the last minute.

"Hey, Ace? Are you okay? Can I get you some water or something?"

Ace rustled to something that might have resembled life to anyone who didn't know the boy. "…No, thanks, Marco. I've got my own wa…" He froze, eyes going wide.

"What? What's wrong?"

"I've got my own water," he whispered. "Why do I have water?"

Marco didn't get it. Why didn't he get it?

"Don't you see? I asked Thatch to refill my water bottle around ten. If he… If he died during the night… Who refilled my water?"

They both stared at each other for a while.

"Hey, Ace?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't drink the water."

"Wasn't going to."

Marco ran past him, presumably to get rid of the water. If it weren't spiked with poison, Ace would be a very surprised man.

Why poison Ace's drinking water? He had what he wanted. He'd even gotten away just fine. Why kill off somebody else?

_Because he knew you'd go after him_, whispered something in Ace's mind. _Because he's under your command, and because he knows you're one of Thatch's best friends. He knew. He knew you'd come for him unless he took you out first. He doesn't care who he kills to go free, and you must have been the most obvious threat. Besides, what could be easier than poisoning the water bottle you left out yourself?_

Ace just covered his face with his hands.

There was only one option left him.

Go after Teach.

Kill him.

Or die trying.

* * *

><p>(AN): …Yeah. Now you know why I said I was sorry last chapter. I really am sorry. This chapter has been drifting in and out of my head for the last… what, two weeks? I both wanted to write and very badly _didn't_ want to write it, if you can make sense of that. I like Thatch. I mean, since you know I write NOTHING in order, I'll still be writing chapters with him in them, but… yeah.

I felt a little like Thatch's character hasn't really been given as much serious thought as it should have been, you know? I want to be able to take him seriously. This chapter gave me that opportunity. He might be a silly man in everyday life, but everything he does, he does out of love and compassion. He's a man so full of that kindness that he'll forgive his killer just because there used to be something companionable between them. That's all he really needs. I don't care if that's not the way Oda wrote him, because let's face it – Oda didn't write very much for him. This Thatch is basically an invention of mine, so I guess I can do what I want, personality-wise?

Timeline confusing? Okay, here's how I think it went: Sometime in the week of Luffy's birthday, (May 5, 1522), Luffy left home. He gets his first bounty around a month later. Ace shows off the poster as soon as it's published. Sometime soon after this, (very soon, actually) this chapter happens. Ace leaves and does not come back to the Moby Dick, because they would probably nail his ass right back down if he chanced it. I can't figure out any other way for this to work, so if it seems a little tightly scheduled, it's only because Oda left it VERY unclear.

I've rambled too much. Again, I'm sorry.


	34. October 17th

October 17th

"I NEED BREASTS!" Thatch cried, bursting into the mess hall.

Shocked silence followed. Thatch just sort of stood there, slowly realising what he said and how it probably sounded. He opened and closed his mouth a few times (not unlike a fish), but had yet to find the right words to transform his statement into something not completely strange beyond comprehension.

"Er… Thatch?" Ace ventured, standing up from a table nearly invisible under the stacks of plates. "As your friends, we promise not to judge you for what you do in your spare time, but-"

"Not like that, ya prick! I mean… just… _Argh_!"

"Because _that_ clears it up so much(!)" Marco said.

"Just follow me and you'll see what I mean," Thatch groaned, turning to leave whether they chose to follow or not. He darted into his cabin, the other two trailing behind.

Marco got to the doorway first. He just stared for a few seconds, delivering the best 'what-the-fuck-is-this' face he could muster. Ace was just behind. He hissed between his teeth, wincing.

"Jesus Christ, Thatch. You're in a lot of trouble this time, you know. Although I now can see where you were coming from on the whole boob thing."

There was a baby situated near a basket on Thatch's bed. The thing was crying raucously, banging its tiny little fists on the blanket, pajama'd feet flailing in the air.

"Please God, tell me it isn't yours," Marco said.

Thatch spluttered. "What the hell is it with you and thinking I'm a giant man-slut with fifty illegitimate children?"

"I was just asking! Sheesh! I notice, however, that you did not answer the question."

"It's not! Well, _she's_ not, actually. And seriously, we need tits," Thatch said.

"Can't we just get her some regular milk and call it a day? Baby food, maybe?" Ace asked.

"No," Thatch muttered. "I wish. This thing's not very old at all. Still on a strict diet of breast milk and nothing else. Her stomach's not going to be able to handle goat's or cow's milk; too difficult to digest."

Both his friends just stared at him.

"You wipe that look off your goddamn faces right now! I raised eight – count 'em, _eight_ siblings from infancy practically by myself, so you can quit with the sketchy looks! Why the hell do you think I went into cooking? At home I changed diapers _constantly_ and dealt with the self-crapping and the diaper-wetting and the vomiting and the ear infections and the crying and above all the _smell_, and kitchens not only did _not_ smell of baby butt projectiles, they smelled _good_! A miracle! Sent from Heaven! Follow the smell; it doesn't resemble poo! Magic from the gods!"

"Okay, okay, we get your point," Marco said.

"I don't feel you do," Thatch said.

"I do!"

"Sniff the baby's diaper."

"God, _why_?"

"So that you will understand my suffering!"

"But I don't want to!"

"Exactly, Marco. Exactly."

"So," Ace said, "bottom line is that we still have to find a woman because all of us suck at this?"

"I didn't suck at it," Thatch hissed. "I just never want to have to do it again. _Eight_ of them, Ace. _Eight_."

"Yeah, yeah. Also, forgive me for asking an obvious question, but where the hell did a baby girl come from given that we're in the middle of the goddamn sea?" Ace asked, walking over the little girl, who was still crying on the bed.

Thatch shrugged. "That's where I'm hitting a brick wall, too. Miranda found the kid in with the Navigation department's stuff – she heard her crying when she went in early – and for some incomprehensible reason, decided that I was the right person with whom to drop a _baby_."

"Hey, little miss," Ace said softly, crouched down by the bed. "Hey. _Shhh_, it's okay. You're fine. You're okay. I'm Ace. Hey." He held her little hands still, keeping a low, soothing tone. Slowly, she quieted, staring at Ace like he was the most interesting thing she'd seen in her short life. Most likely, he was. "There, you see?" he said with a smile. "We're not yelling any more, sweet thing. You don't need to cry. I know you're hungry, and we're trying to find you something to eat, but you just need to wait a little – Hey, now; that's my nose. It's kind of attached, dear." She had taken hold Ace's nose with her tiny, tiny little hands, giggling when Ace smiled.

Marco grabbed Thatch's arm and swung him around. "Okay, correct me if I'm wrong…" He turned back to look at the scene behind him. "…That is probably one of the cutest things in the whole wide world."

"It's up there; yeah," Thatch admitted. They looked again.

"I boop your nose with my nose!" Ace was saying, touching their noses together. The little girl giggled and clapped her hands.

"Motherfucker," Marco whispered.

"Dying from the cute?"

"A little. Since when did Ace know how to deal with babies? I mean, I know he's good with _kids_, but babies aren't kids. They're barely _human_, for God's sake."

"There's that," Thatch said. "Hey, Ace? When you have a minute to spare from your adorable little bundle of demon spawn, can we talk out in the hall?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah. Coming," Ace said.

As soon as the door closed, Thatch waged the assault. "How in the hell did you do that? I tried earlier and I couldn't get her to quiet down at all!"

"Did you get in practice with raising Luffy or something?" Marco asked.

"Well, no," Ace said, scratching the back of his head. "Besides, Luffy and I are only three years apart. I can't remember when he was a baby." He conveniently left out the part where they hadn't even met until Ace was ten. "I guess I kind of just… made it up as I went?"

Thatch breathed in deeply through his nose, giving Ace a hard stare. "Look, Ace, I know you hate it when I bring up the title of Ofukur-"

"Finish it and die," Ace said.

"-But that was mind-blowing!" Thatch said. "Like it or not, _actual_ mothers sometimes can't do that! Either you have a magic ability to communicate with the mentally deficient parasite in that room there, or you were a born ma! Get pissy all you please; I'm only stating the obvious, here."

"He's right. Ace, Thatch doesn't seem to be able to really deal with a baby right now," Marco said.

"Exactly! I'm a Division Commander, and I've got a ton of shit to do that does not, thankfully, involve _actual_ shit-"

"I'm a Commander, too, and I've got even more responsibilities than Thatch does."

"-and I mean, the kid doesn't even _like_ me-"

"So can you take her? Just until we figure out what to do?" Marco asked.

Ace glared at them both. "Wait, so you're pinning me with this just because I'm not a Commander?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"That, and you seem pretty comfortable with having a baby around."

"This is ridiculous!" Ace said. "Damn it, Marco, I'm a _pirate_, not a nanny!"

"Tough shit, sugar. That's the way the ball rolls, unfortunately," Thatch said.

"Well, what am I supposed to do to get this kid some food?" Ace cried.

"Er, I'd actually suggest Selma," Marco said.

Both turned to stare at him.

"_Selma_?"

"Is there a problem with Selma?" Marco asked.

"Uh, let's go with YES," Ace said. "She's pure evil! You realise this, yes? Selma is – fuck, she's just plain _mean_, and if we come to her with crap like this-"

"-She'll understand," Marco said. "She's already raised a kid, you know."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, _what_? Okay, I've known Selma for going on fifteen years, Marco. How is it I'm only hearing about this now?" Thatch asked.

"She got pregnant in high school. She raised the kid on her own, all the while putting herself through med school, and now she's doing pirate work so she can deck her kid out in the best shit money can buy."

"I'll be damned," Ace muttered. "So the father left her and she still did that well for herself?"

"Oh, he didn't leave her. _She_ left _his_ ass in the street, from what I've heard. He also, apparently, had the gumption to tell her she was never going to go very far without him."

"_Oooooooh_," both Ace and Thatch gasped.

"I bet she kicked his ass. I bet his death involved stiletto heels. They are the world's most dangerous footwear, you know."

"I didn't know someone's head could be wedged so far up their own arse, they could inspect their own dental work. No wonder she left him."

A small, angry yell came from behind the closed door.

"Your erstwhile charge is calling, Ace," Thatch said smugly. Ace offered him a rude hand gesture.

"Seriously, Ace. Talk to Selma if you're hung up on something."

"Thanks, Marco. I'll see if I can manage to do that without being offered acid-based moxibustion."

* * *

><p>The baby girl (Ace had decided to call her Imogen in his head, just because she was technically another human being and shouldn't be referred to as 'that little noisy pink thing' even in the privacy of one's own mind) had cried and cried until Ace picked her up, at which point she had finally quieted. She had actually fallen asleep on his shoulder and now he really didn't know what to do. What was going to happen when she inevitably soiled her diaper? There were no clean ones with which to exchange it. These were the kinds of things you needed to have solved ahead of time, and while she was not being too much of a bother, this was the perfect time.<p>

Ace poked his head warily into the infirmary.

"Selma? Hellooooo?" he called. "Josh? Are either of you in here?"

"What could you possibly want, you imbecile, I'm very busy right- _Oh sweet Lord, you found her_!" Selma surged forward out of nowhere, but recognised almost instantly that the baby was sleeping, and that to wake her would be unwise. "Thank you," she whispered. "Where in the hell did you find her?"

"I didn't," Ace said. "Miranda found her in Navigation this morning, pawned her off on Thatch, and then he pawned her off on me."

"That filthy whore," Selma said. "I brought the baby in Navigation this morning, left for two seconds to look for a loo, and when I come back there's no baby. My morning's been hellish. Tell Miranda she can look forward to some interesting gifts being left in her bed sheets when you see her next, if you please?"

"Why were you in Navigation, if I may ask?"

"The baby got left on board yesterday when we were docked. I had to figure out when the best time was to head back in a small skiff or something to get the baby back to the mother. I thought I remembered something about a nor'easter coming in, and I wanted to be sure it would be safe to make that kind of a journey on my own with a baby in tow," Selma said. Ace couldn't help but feel that she was being oddly reasonable.

"So you know where the mother is? Hell; you know _who_ the mother is?" he asked.

"Yes. She wandered on to the ship by accident yesterday. She must have been under the impression that this was a different ship."

Ace gave her an incredulous look. "How do you mistake the flagship of _Whitebeard_? How stupid do you have to be to miss the giant flag _and_ the white hull? Oh, and the _pirates_ everywhere?"

"She was blind, you bigoted piece of…" she glanced at the baby "…political speeches." That was genuinely the worst insult she could come up with.

Ace winced. Okay, there was no coming back from that one. "Sorry. Can I do something to help?"

"Don't let the baby wake up," Selma said. "I'm not in the mood for more of the mentally sub-par screaming at me today."

"Hey!" Joshua's voice echoed from down the hall.

"Not you, dollop-head," she called as softly as she could manage. "At any rate, if you could just stay in here with me so that I can pick up the slack when you need a breather, that's all right." She looked up and smiled. Ace was a little taken aback. Selma was almost beautiful when she didn't look as though she was seriously considering taking out your kidneys with a melon-baller. "I know it can be rather overwhelming to suddenly have a child on your hands."

"…Thank you," Ace said. He sat down on one of the empty infirmary beds, resettling the small, warm bundle still resting peacefully on his shoulder.

* * *

><p>Ace let out a sigh without realising it.<p>

"You're going to miss her, huh?" Thatch said.

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. Don't give me that crap, Ace. Come on. Out with it."

Ace looked out over the deck railing he was leaning on to the sea below. "…I guess it was kind of nice. Not being judged, you know. Or rather, not being judged and found wanting."

"I can't say I quite get it," Thatch said.

"People tend to judge me before they know me, and when they do, it's usually not in my favour, let's just say," Ace said. "It was a welcome change to get judged before I was known well and actually have that person _like_ me. Reminded me of Lu'. I haven't had too many chances to be the favourite before, you know? Babies can't really judge you, anyway. They can't think like normal people, or even like children yet. They are people without that same… scariness of _people_, you know?"

"I might," Thatch said. "We're scared of people hating or judging us, but with a baby, it doesn't matter because they never will, right?"

"Yeah."

"…I guess there's something in that."

Ace didn't say anything.

Thatch gave him a long, hard look. "Well," he said, pushing himself off from the railing, "I hope you're not thinking of knocking up any girls to have a baby around permanently."

Ace had a small epileptic fit that nearly landed him overboard.

* * *

><p>(AN): Fluff chapter to kind of make up for the last one.

I was asked when I type up these chapters and how. Answer? I write these in about one to two hours and submit them the second they are done. No proofreading. I proofread AFTER I submit. Call me crazy. I don't write things and then hold them in reserve. For some reason, I really can't.

I have more fluff chapters on the way. (-Fluttershy YAY-)

Love you guys and as always, thank you so much for reviewing.


	35. Day 50

I don't know when (or IF) SOPA goes into effect, but if they shut down ffnet, shit is getting real. If you still want updates for this fic, whether they shut down ffnet or not, you can send me your email in a PM (I would not suggest doing it in a review, seeing as those are not necessarily private), and it may be that ffnet will remain untouched… but I doubt that, since the entire site is based off of copyrighted material.

This being said, I'm trying very damn hard to get this written before midnight this time, so that maybe people will have a chance to see it just in case the whole site crashes like a bullet through wet toilet paper.

**EDIT: If you send me your email, don't just type it straight. Like they do with direct links, ffnet censors email addresses. You'd have to format it like "nadeshikotenshi at yahoo dot com" or something to get it to go through.**

Day 50

Joshua looked up from a sheaf of paperwork on his desk to see something rather unusual: Thatch and Ace came into the infirmary together, holding a stumbling, complaining Marco between them.

"I'm fine!" he was saying. "I'm sure this shit will wear off in a few hours, max, so if one of you could just help me to my room without tripping over any loose shit, that would be stupendous!"

"Look, Marco, we're sure you're fine, but we just want to be triply sure. There's nothing wrong with that, right?" Thatch said.

"Honestly. What if it wasn't what you thought it was, or what if it was something nastier, you know? There's no harm in being sure, and since none of us is a professional at any of this medical crap, why are you taking chances?"

"Haven't seen _you_ in my sick bay in recent years, Taichou. Or, you know, much at all," Joshua said. "I was under the impression that very little on God's green earth could put a dent in you. What's the problem?"

"It's not a wound. I'm not hurt. Wounds aren't a problem, trust me," Marco said.

"But there is something wrong." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah. Can't see a damn thing."

Joshua sighed. "No shit, Sherlock; your eyes are closed."

"Not that!" Marco snapped. "Even when they're open, I can't see fuckin' anything, but right now, they're burning one whole hell of a-" He bent over, coughing.

"Shit! What happened?" Joshua asked, putting a hand on Marco's back. "I mean, it's sounding like pepper spray right now, but…" He stopped when all three started nodding. "…Seriously?"

"Me 'n' Marco and some other guys out of First Division and a couple from Third are raiding one little merchant ship. One! Marco goes around the back. I don't see what happens. Next thing I know, he's stumbling around with his hands over his face and looking pissed as hell!" Thatch said.

"Lady," Marco got out. "Asked to see crate behind her. Thought it was valuable. Crazy bitch thought I was-" he coughed a bit more and Ace looked at him with concern "-thought I was trying to hurt her or something. Whips out a bottle and fucking maces me."

"Well," said Joshua, "women tend to be like that. Guys quietly wet their pants when under pressure and fear, but women, instead of lacking reaction, overreact and then it all just goes to hell. They also think men are pigs with no morals."

"And most of the time, they are arguably correct," Selma said in passing. "Hey, Josh? I'm going for food and rigorous gossiping about Marco Taichou here screwing up like a rookie on his third day. Can I get you anything while I'm there?"

Joshua just put on his best poker face (which still wasn't particularly good) and just shook his head. She left, humming something or another. They just sat in silence for a few seconds before resuming.

"But, as I was saying, women are easily excitable. As the locals term it, 'bitches be crazy'," Joshua said.

"Yeah, you'd know," Thatch said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You have a crush on a veritable _dragon_, Josh."

"Don't say shit like that. Selma's not a dragon."

"And yet you know exactly who I'm talking about."

"Oh, shut up, Taichou. Er, Thatch Taichou. Not Marco Taichou. Sorry."

"I'm blind, not deaf. I can follow a fucking conversation," Marco said, impatient.

"Right. Sorry. Anyway, how long ago did you get sprayed?"

Marco sighed. "I don't know. Ten minutes ago, tops? Thatch got me here pretty fast, and then Ace saw us… Is that sounding about right, guys?"

Thatch checked his pocket watch. "Eight or nine minutes, yeah."

Joshua cleared his throat. "Well, I'm sorry to say, the effects could take a few hours to vanish completely, depending on what ingredients were in the pepper spray in what concentrations. Every company's formula is ever-so-slightly different, so there's really no way to tell. The blindness, though, should wear off anywhere from half an hour to forty-five minutes. You don't have long to worry about that. If your throat feels like it's swelling up, it's not. Just try to take deep breaths. Any upper-body spasms should be gone any minute now, so your breathing should improve soon. Just try not to piss off any more women, okay?"

"I can try. No promises," Marco said.

"Not on this ship, huh?" Thatch laughed. "Women will always find men offensive. They just take it upon themselves to keep us in the dark about those opinions."

"Don't you pretend to understand women!"

"Never. That would be incredibly ambitious of me."

"Come on," Ace said. "We should probably get you to your cabin, huh?"

"I like my cabin. I know where shit is in my cabin. There's no loose shit on the floor in my cabin. There's very little I can trip over in my cabin."

"Uh, hey Ace?" Thatch said. "Can you handle Marco? I've gotten in the first aid and obligatory heckling, and I am kind of helping oversee a small heist, so…"

"Got it. Crime to be done?"

"Yeah. Thanks, man!" Thatch called over his shoulder as he darted up the stairs.

"Don't let his attitude fool you, Ace. He didn't come to help with the first aid part – he lives to heckle."

"I might have noticed, given… well… the jello thing?"

"Yeah. Don't remind me. Besides, I'm still blaming you for part of that. You aided and abetted that ass. And after all I did for you, too."

"Wait, you did stuff for me?"

"Yeah."

"Like what?"

Marco chewed his lip for a few seconds. "Sanderson wanted to throw you overboard when you first started trying to kill Oyaji. I kicked his ass. Well, not really. More like bitched at him for two hours."

Ace regretted asking. Okay, so maybe he should have seen that coming. He should have known that there was no way no-one in the crew had any resentment at all. What surprised him was the sequence of events. He hadn't actually been any semblance of nice, or even amiable, to anyone on the crew for… It had been a few weeks, if memory served. But Marco defended him from the beginning? It didn't make much sense. Why?

He looked down at the man leaning heavily on his shoulder, one hand out patting the wall to try and steady himself, eyes roaming for any possible flicker of information it could send to the brain, feet only moving forward with considerable trepidation and searching for a path clear of obstructions.

Marco was feeling vulnerable right now. Very vulnerable. But he wasn't saying anything. The ways in which he asked for help were subtle, but he still voiced them. Marco knew his own limits well and didn't let something stupid like pride get in the way of the smartest course of action. That trait, combined with his unerring loyalty, was probably what got him his post as First Division Commander. Ace knew that those personality traits also made Whitebeard tend to run everything by Marco before he did it. Even if he didn't get Marco's approval, it was always discussed. Marco was never left out of the decision-making process entirely. In this way, Whitebeard had probably taken Marco aside when Ace was still unconscious and told him what his plan for the young man was. If Marco had agreed, that was that. If Marco had disagreed, Whitebeard might have made a convincing argument that swayed him. If Marco had disagreed and Whitebeard hadn't been so convincing, but went ahead with his own plan, anyway… Well, Marco would never speak out against his Captain and adopted father. His loyalty came into play in that scenario.

Ace looked down again. Which had it been? Did he defend Ace because he liked Ace or because he loved his Captain?

Well, whichever it had been at the time, no amount of love for Whitebeard could have ever convinced Marco to show vulnerability to someone he disliked. Whatever had happened in the past, he trusted Ace now.

He didn't know why that one thought made him so incredibly happy.

"We're here," he said, stopping.

"What, really? It felt a lot longer than it normally takes to get to my room," Marco said.

"Yeah, I suppose it would. Normally, you don't have to map every square inch of the hallway with your foot, though, right?"

Marco grinned. "Guess that's true." He loosed a small cough, which Ace was pleased to note sounded much less like a clogged airway and more like one of those annoying little tickles in the back of one's throat.

"Hang on; I'll get the door for you," he said.

"I can get my own damn door, Ace," Marco muttered. Okay, so maybe pride had a home in Marco, after all.

Ace grinned and let go of the door handle. "By all means!" He backed away from Marco as a whole, hands in the air with the palms showing, not that Marco would know that.

He had to admit (although not out loud because, of course, he didn't want to die just yet) that Marco looked both awkward and funny as he groped around blindly for the door. He was a good half a metre away from the actual door, instead patting around the wall next to it and getting irritated when the didn't find anything.

"It's to the right," Ace said.

"I know that, asshole," Marco growled.

"Hey, it's only for half an hour."

"Yeah. Go around blind for half an hour and see how optimistic _you_ feel."

The door was open and the room was every bit as tidy as it had been when Ace saw it over a month ago. He also noted that everything had been cleaned of jello. He vaguely wondered where all of it had ended up, or if it had just been emptied into the sea in one of Marco's fits of rage. The fish had to have had a field day if that were true. He didn't imagine fish had access to anything like fruity gelatin in the deep places of the ocean.

"So… Marco, are you gonna be okay?" he asked.

"You heard Josh."

"Yeah… But are you going to be okay?"

Marco smiled wryly. "...I think so. Any chance you could stay here until I can see again? Just in case I need something?"

"Yeah, sure. Fair warning, though: I'll talk your head off the whole time."

"Oh, I expected nothing less."

* * *

><p>(AN): Because bitches DO be crazy, and these days, they're carrying all sorts of dangerous shit they don't know how to use.

Yes, I know the blindness actually wears off more quickly than do the other symptoms. Shut up. Maybe this chick emptied the whole canister into his face. You just don't know.

THIS STORY HIT TWO HUNDRED REVIEWS. I JUST STARED AT THE COUNTER AND GIGGLED FOR TEN MINUTES STRAIGHT. NO LIE.


	36. June 22nd Part One

Well, we've cleared the SOPA hurdle, it seems, but PIPA is still being retarded. The vote is on the 24th, I think, so I've got less than a week to crank out some shit, minimum. *sigh of relief*

June 22nd

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Be-click. _"Ace, report your current situation and position."

"Well, Marco, to put it bluntly, I beat up drug lords, stole a ship along with about 20 million Beri in crack cocaine, and there are about ten Marine ships on my trail, including my grandfather's, and I'm also pretty sure there's a gas leak on this ship that will blow if I ignite in here to assist in escape. But, you know, otherwise, nothing out of the ordinary."

"…This isn't like the peanut butter joke, is it? Because I'm still waiting for the punch line."

"My life is God's little joke all on its own. I'm a walking punch line. Oh, and I think I just pissed off a Sea King. Today is just _not_ my day."

"…Oh, Ace. Only you."

* * *

><p><em>24 hours earlier<em>

"Ace! You joined the Whitebeard Pirates' Second Division twenty-three days ago," Marco said. "You've had some assignments thrown at you here and there. Nothing you couldn't handle. But thing is, you've always had somebody there with you, either to supervise or assist. Turns out, you don't need any damn supervisor. I've got something here that looks like it would take two or three of Second Division's normal guys… but, then, given your track record, I don't think it's gonna be a problem. Want to go solo for a change?"

Ace stared at him. "You… you mean you'd let me?"

"Why the hell not? We knew you were a hard worker from ages ago, and it's not like we don't trust you. We trusted you _before_ you got your ink, kid. You're not starting fresh here, you know. Besides, nobody here is going to argue that your ability to handle your own shit is Commander-level at least. Simply the facts, so don't get all cute thinking I'm trying to flatter you. I just don't want to send out three guys when we only need to send one."

"…Yes, sir," Ace said, beaming.

"Don't you give me any of that 'sir' shit, Portgas! You call me anything other than 'Marco' or some form of profanity like usual, and I'll kick your lily white ass clear off this ship."

"Have it your way. Your new name is Douchenozzle."

"Still better than 'sir'. Anyway, do you even want to hear what you're supposed to be doing?" Marco asked, waving a sheaf of paper and adjusting his reading glasses.

"Sure. Go for it."

"All right," Marco said. "You know Fishman Island? Well then, you ought to know that they're under our protection and any funny business attempted by those who pass through is directly reported to us. Then they choose whether or not that report also comes with a request for backup. Normally, they like to handle it themselves, and we file away the list of perpetrators, and when somebody gets three strikes in their file, we come a-knocking on some doors and let our opinion be known in a fairly damaging manner. This time, we have a third-striker. Two, actually. There are these two guys who keep ducking through the Fishman Island customs. I'd suggest dropping by Fishman Island to get some intel before you jump in with both feet. I mean, we've got some folk from Twelfth Division who might be able to clue you in, but the customs officials are going to know it better and the information won't be second-hand. You can also probably figure out where they rabbited to, since the little shits fled Fishman Island early this morning."

"Thanks, Marco! Say, er, have you looked into those designs I gave you?"

Marco took off his glasses to better give Ace a weird look. "The ones for an internal-combustion styled speed boat no bigger than a kayak? That's the most bizarre fucking thing I've ever looked at in my life. And nobody could ever use it but you and maybe me. That's an awful big maybe, too."

"I know. I just got to thinking that taking a little tiny felucca is kind of retarded. I mean, if the thing gets stolen, I'm screwed. It's not that portable. It's slow going. It can barely hold enough provisions to last me the time it takes to get anywhere! A speed boat would solve almost all of my problems, and especially if I make so I'm the only one capable of using it! And it would take up almost no room on board precisely because it _is_ so small and streamlined. Just get me the shop time and materials and I'll make it myself! Please? Pleeeeaaase? If I ask with puppy eyes, will you let me?" Ace asked.

Marco rubbed his temples. "…I'll consider it. When you get back from this mission, we'll talk more. That satisfy you, asswipe? And get that smug look off your face."

"I wasn't being smug, Marco. Thank you. You're a fuckin' prince."

"You know, I _am_ a fuckin' prince. Now get lost."

"'Kay."

* * *

><p>"So, Mister… Raqu'el, is it?" Ace asked.<p>

"Yes, sir." The horseshoe crab fishman looked a little nervous. Ace winced a little at the whole 'sir' thing. He was starting to understand why it irked Marco so much to hear it.

"You can stop with the 'sir' crap. I'm starting to feel like a government official."

"Well, since Whitebeard is really the only law here that humans obey… You kind of are a government official here, sir."

Ace sighed. "Thank you for clearing that up. As though my lifelong quest for irony had any lack of satisfaction(!) Anyway, what can you tell me about these guys I'm supposed to be looking for?"

"Their names are Aiden Weiss and Dmitri Steinberg. Weiss is the Captain and Steinberg is the first mate, as far as we know. Their ship was unnamed in what paperwork they filed."

"Wait, they filed paperwork?" Ace said. "I thought these guys were on our shit list because they _didn't_ file paperwork."

"The paperwork is from the first time they attempted to go through customs. After they filed everything, we asked to inspect their cargo, at which point they assaulted the serving officer and ran. The second time they attempted it, they didn't even bother with paperwork and just ran straight through customs. The third time, we were authorised to attack, but as shoddy and fragile as their ship looked, it sustained no damage."

Ace frowned. "No damage? So you missed?"

"No! That's just it! We got several direct hits in but there must have been some extra fortifications to the ship. Something more than just what we saw from the outside."

"Can I talk to the officer who got assaulted? Any information on how these guys fight, or exactly at what point they were provoked to violence, might help me figure out just what they hell they thought they could get away with," Ace said.

"I'm afraid that's impossible, sir," Raqu'el said, looking nervous. "He had to quit his job due to injuries, and when he went up to Shaboady several months ago, he didn't come back. No-one has seen him since, and some believe he was sold into slavery or killed there."

Ace winced and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wondered briefly why the hell he was tracking down some douches who slipped past customs instead of the bastards who discriminated thoughtlessly and murdered and enslaved their way through populations that had done nothing worth such treatment. But then, at the same time, there was just about nothing he could do about it at the moment. Much as he might like the idea of changing the world to eradicate blatant racism, there was no way to do it quickly or easily. It wasn't a problem that had a cure. And actually, that was the aspect of it that galled him the most. "Is there anyone I _can_ talk to about these guys?" he asked.

"The guard who was attacked, Suon, had a little sister. She's still on the island. If anyone could tell you about the incident, it would be her."

"Thanks. Can I have her name and address?"

"Ishilly. She's actually working as a waitress in the Mermaid Café right now, if you need to go talk to her soon. She shouldn't be getting home until much later, and I assume you want to get this done as quickly as possible?"

"Yeah. Thanks again, man!" Ace called, already trotting away.

"You're welcome! And thank _you_, as well," said Raqu'el softly.

* * *

><p>By the divines, there were a lot of tits in the Mermaid Café. They were <em>everywhere<em>. Well, at least he knew why pirates raved about this place. Most pirates – hell, most men – were convinced that boobs were the greatest things on the planet. Ace had to wonder now if the men who spoke so fondly of Mermaid Café were referring to the faces of the mermaids, or their prodigious chests. Did they ever get sick of being objectified like that?

"Er, hello?" he said rather directionlessly. He could only hope that someone would take pity and pay attention.

"What do you need, sweetheart?" asked a mermaid with short pink hair.

"Hi. I'm looking for an Ishilly and was told she'd be here. I am in the right place, right?"

"Oooh, Ishilly!" she cried. "Yeah, she's here! She's taking her lunch break. She's right around the back. Black hair in pigtails. Freckles. She could be related to _you_, sweet cheeks." She winked, pointing him in the right direction, and left to help a customer who was out of ale.

"Hello? Ishilly?" he called.

"Hm? Somebody need me?" There were three mermaids sitting on a bench of sorts in the back room, nibbling their lunches and gossiping, but Ishilly stood right out. The pink haired mermaid had gotten it right; she really did look like she could be related to Ace. The look on her face and the sheer volume of hair reminded him more of cheerful Miranda, though, and that was a scary thought.

"Hey! Yeah. Promise I won't take up your whole lunch break," Ace said.

"You can take up my whole lunch break if you like," she said. "There's not much left of it, anyway."

He smiled, trying to be charming and probably failing. "So, you don't know me, but I'm trying to find the pieces of shite that hurt your brother a while ago. Anything you could shed light on? Any information at all would be a big help."

A shadow passed over her face.

"I'm really sorry to be asking so point-blank, but if I can track these guys down, I can get your brother some justice, wherever he is," Ace said, trying to smooth over his mistake.

"Yeah," she muttered. "I know. Let's go somewhere a little more private." She pulled him out the back door of the café and took a seat on a high-rising coral formation. She patted the one next to her. Ace took a seat, but didn't say anything else. This was probably a touchy subject for her, and he wanted her to get to it in her own time. She cleared her throat. "Okay, so, what kind of stuff do you need to know?"

"Anything about the guys or their ship, really. What they fought like. What the hell kind of stuff they might've had in that ship that they didn't want customs to touch… Stuff like that. Also, how fast they rabbited."

"Well, Weiss's abilities I don't know much about. His first mate… Steinberg, was it? He did all the fighting. He fought with this thing that was like a really long knife, but not anywhere close to sword length, and it was flatter and kind of curved. Like the one you're wearing." She gestured to the sheathed machete Ace kept on his left hip.

"A machete? Really?" Ace raised an eyebrow. Machetes were not tactically sound or exactly subtle. They were good as tools, and less so as weapons. They were slow and unwieldy most of the time, and Ace only used his when there were no other options. He was willing to bet that Steinberg's mainstay in weaponry was something else, but if he hadn't used it, there was no way to tell what it was. "Did he have any other weapons on him?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. Suon-niisan didn't say anything about other weapons and I don't think anybody got too good a look at them aside from my brother. Weiss was carrying a bow strapped to his back, though."

"Like bow-and-arrow kind of bow?"

"Yeah."

Great. A long range fighter. Bollocks. Wait. Arrows couldn't do shit to him, anyway. Why was he worried? Old habit, maybe? From that kind of skill set, he understood why the Captain had run for the ship while his first mate stayed back to fight the customs official. Weiss had no close-combat abilities, or if he did, they weren't very good. He'd needed to put some distance between himself and the target before entering a battle, and his first mate gave him the time to do that. It made sense.

"And you asked about their ship, too, right?" She wrinkled her pointed nose. "It was a ratty thing. It didn't look like the Grand Line had been exactly kind to them. Half the wood looked like it was rotting and if they didn't have serious termite damage, I'm the Princess. It was kind of on the small side, too. Cheap. Bad repairs. Two of their sails had holes in them."

"How the hell did they sail like that?" Ace asked, rather appalled.

Ishilly shrugged. "Wish I knew. I heard that when they tried to get a shot in when they passed through this morning, it just bounced off the ship. I thought for sure the thing would be blown clear to the surface! I don't know why it didn't work. And they were really fast. I saw them leaving. I also heard that somebody heard them talking when they stopped to pick up food. She thought she heard them talking about heading to the Haswarian Islands. That's a pretty dangerous area, even for the New World, isn't it?"

Herein was the clue. "How fast would you say? Like, how long did it take them to get from one fixed point to another? Did they pass over this café, for example, and get to point B a certain number of seconds later?"

Ishilly gave him a weird look. "How would that help?"

He grinned. "Physics. If I figure out how quickly they managed to accelerate, or how slowly, I might be able to figure out whether or not their ship was really made out of wood."

She looked a little stunned, then almost crestfallen. "Dear Neptune, they sent us a nerd to help."

"Oy, watch it. The nerd part is only one facet of the gemstone."

She smiled in spite of herself. "You better find the monsters who hurt my brother, Mister Whitebeard-Pirate-Who-Is-Also-A-Nerd. And when you do, if you could give them to me for a few well-aimed beatings, I'd be much obliged."

Ace smirked. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

><p>(AN): I'm sorry there was pretty much nothing funny in here AND you had to wait. I got really sick yesterday and basically was clutching the porcelain throne for hours on end. God, I hate the kind of cramping I get. I wish my doctor would just get me horse tranquilizers and get it over with. Or Vicodin. I could do with Vicodin. No promises for what my writing would be like if I tried to finish the chapter while doped halfway out of my mind, though.

I'll explain the peanut butter joke later. Or rather, I'll get Thatch to do it.


	37. June 22nd Part Two

Felucca is TOO a word. It's a kind of small boat, usually a fishing vessel. Stupid spell check doesn't believe me.

June 22nd Part Two

Docks in the Haswarian Isles were difficult to come by. At one point, not a hundred years ago, the Isles had been about two or three islands, total, but with rising sea levels, what had been low-lying countryside was flooded, thereby breaking up the couple of islands there were into a shit-ton of islands, most of which went into water gradually. Any proper dock required a steep drop-off between the land and the sea, and while there were two on the entirety of the Isles that would suffice, the Marines used one of them very heavily. That left just the one, and even that one was tricky to enter.

Haswarians were dicks. Especially the guy that ran the docks. The path of entry was so difficult to bypass, you had to do so in an orderly line, and the channel was so narrow before broadening, there was room to set up a proper gate – and that was precisely what a Haswarian by the name of Jehir did. He also set up an automatic communications system so that he could personally screen everybody coming in, and of course, those he decided to allow through had to pay a toll. The guy made a killing, just because nobody realised before that you could charge pirates money and actually have them pay it. Ridiculous.

Ace had heard a rumour from Thatch and Miranda both, actually, that Jehir had a little bit of creepy to him besides his good business sense. He loved women. Particularly slutty women. Whenever Whitebeard's ship went through, they usually made one of the women (Miranda would do it most of the time, and either blonde or ginger Hannah would take over if she got sick of being objectified) address the communications system. As a direct result, they didn't have to pay the fee. Once, because Marco answered instead, Jehir had almost denied them entry. Well, not that he actually _could_. They had trashed his gate and lost him a fortune in tolls while he spent two weeks repairing it. At any rate, it was a good idea to avoid the nonsense of dealing with the man's retardedness just by letting a woman answer the Den-Den Mushi behind the bulletproof glass.

Problem.

Ace wasn't a woman.

There were no women in his tiny little felucca.

He didn't sound like a woman.

He had no tits.

But then, perhaps it wasn't that big a problem. The Den-Den Mushi didn't have visual-transmitting capabilities, so his face (and his lack of tits) wouldn't interfere with anything until it was too late to deny him access. The only problem left was his voice.

Ace had picked up something fun from Norm, of all people. He'd always thought Norm was a bit dumber than the others on the ship, and most definitively dumber than his brilliant (albeit evil) twin sister. Somehow, though, the man was a thief on par with some of the best thieves in the world. When asked, Norm attributed it to his great skill in disguising himself. He had then demonstrated briefly. Since he didn't have his costumes or wigs or makeup or masks or any of that on hand at the time, he had just reached up to his throat and massaged at certain areas. Ace had thought he'd heard tiny popping noises. Then Norm had spoken, and for all the world, he sounded like a five-year-old girl. He'd messed with his throat again (Ace found out later when it was explained that he'd actually been rearranging his vocal chords) and his voice sounded precisely like Oyaji's. It was both creepy and amazing, so Ace had demanded a quick lesson. Norm, ever eager to show off and prove that his IQ was actually a bit higher than room temperature, complied. It had only been a quick crash course, but Ace learned how to change his voice to a woman's.

It was fucked up, to be sure, but it might just work.

It was his turn in line, and he rowed up to the small post where the Den-Den Mushi was stationed. It crackled to life, booming in Jehir's voice. The sound resonated a little differently than it had the last time Ace had been here, and he wondered if Jehir had gotten a little fatter. "Who requests entry?"

Ace quickly pressed certain points in his throat, clearing it when he finished. When he spoke, a sensual woman's voice came out instead of his own, although that had more to do with diction and inflection than the basic pitch. "Hello, there, Mister Tollbooth Worker. I don't suppose you want a naughty girl like me on your island, huh? What do you think I can do to convince you otherwise?" God, this was fucked up. At least no-one he gave two shits about was there to witness it.

Jehir was giggling. It was disgusting, really. "Oh, I think you're just what this island needs, honey. What's your name?"

"It's Anne, sugar," he said. It was the first name that came to mind.

"Well, tell you what, Little Miss Anne. How about I let you in free of charge, eh? Just as a special favour."

"Ooh, yay!" he cried, giggling as annoyingly as he could bring himself to. "Oh, thank you, Mister Man. You are just the sweetest thing."

As soon as the gates swung open, Ace reached up and fixed his voice. It was always supremely uncomfortable to do that, both physically and emotionally.

He found the docks for smaller vessels easily enough. Unfortunately, when he disembarked, there was Jehir. Okay, so he _had_ gotten fatter, but it seemed he wasn't any slower for it.

Jehir was livid. "Where is the pretty woman I spoke to? What bullshit is this?"

Ace batted his eyelashes. "What, I'm not pretty enough for you? Anyway, I gotta go, sweet cheeks. Don't wait up." He tossed a careless two-fingered salute over his shoulder, not bothering to look back, and just walked away, adjusting his hat.

* * *

><p>It took Ace about a solid two hours to get any information on where Weiss and Steinberg might be hiding. Somebody in a fruit stand had mentioned that they got a hotel room not far from the docks, and from there, it was just a matter of waiting.<p>

Sure enough, just by scoping out their hotel (it was a cheap, run-down place, from the look of it), he found his quarry easily enough. They clearly didn't think they were being followed, since they were on dry land. Ace momentarily wondered if it might be worth it to conceal his tattoo to keep them from realising that they might have enemies in these parts, but ditched the idea. He had no intention of obscuring his loyalties, and that was that. Fuck secrecy.

When Weiss and Steinberg entered a bar, Ace honest-to-God thought he had them. Starting a bar fight had to be the easiest goddamn thing in the world, most especially because Ace had done it for fun since he was eight. All he had to do was wait until they were both reasonably drunk, then go up pretending to also be drunk, and throw a couple of asshole-y remarks, and then he'd drag them outside once a couple punches were thrown, state his true intentions and explain exactly who they made as an enemy, and then beat the living shit out of them. Easy enough.

He should've known. Nothing was ever easy in the life of Portgas D. Ace.

What the hell were they doing here? Didn't he have work in Marineford, or some other bullshit like that? Clearly not. Shit, shit, shit. Don't let him see. Pull up the newspaper a little higher. If I'm lucky he might not notice. Wait, no. The moment you start depending on luck, you're fucked.

Monkey D. Garp. Why? _Why_? As if Ace's life weren't annoying enough. The guy was old as dirt, but he was still scary. His intentions became exceedingly clear in the next few seconds.

"Aiden Weiss and Dmitri Stein-something-because-I-don't-actually-care-what-your-name-is!" Garp began. Oh yeah, Ace thought, this is gonna go _great(!)_ "You are both under arrest for illegal smuggling and dealings with pirates!"

Ah, _there_ was the bar fight he'd been about to start. Ace took full advantage of the situation to get the hell out of there before his adoptive grandfather recognised him and arrested him just for the hell of it. Or worse: he might want to have _bonding_ _time_ with him. Eurgh.

Ace ran full-tilt back to the docks. He knew damn well his grandfather travelled with a bloody warship full of Marines. Too much work for what was supposed to be a cakewalk-level mission.

It was so much worse once he got to the docks. Jehir, the spiteful little shit, had had his felucca towed. God only knew where it was now. Ace just shut his eyes, biting a lip, praying it would be there when he opened his eyes. It wasn't.

"That douchebag towed me because I didn't have tits. You have _got_ to be kidding me," Ace whispered to himself. "He's got man-boobs enough for both of us, surely?"

He looked around the dock for anything, anything at all, that could possibly assist his current situation. His eyes caught something interesting, luckily, and he just grinned like a loon.

Aiden Weiss's ratty-ass ship was right there. Maybe he couldn't beat Weiss up any-more, but robbing from people usually pissed them off just as much as beating them up might, if not more.

Ace got maybe a grand total of three steps onto the ship before a fist curved around a corner to attempt to sock him in the gut. However, as always, Ace had his permanent armour on: his Logia. It was exceptionally unwise to attempt to harm Ace with only fists, or with legs, for that matter. Since he turned to flame, the area that had been assaulted would instantly apply flames directly to the interfering body, meaning the attacker's fists or feet, and burning flesh smelled awful. It also turned grey and began to blister and peel off in a thoroughly disgusting manner. There was also usually a far bit of screaming, because secretly criminals were big fucking pansies who liked to go cry to their mothers whenever they so much as stubbed their toes, as any pirate doctor would swear to the grave.

It hadn't been four whole minutes before Ace had the three guys by the collars of their finely pressed shirts, dragging their charred asses outside and chucking them into the water. He adjusted his hat (one of the idiots had actually gotten close enough to poke it slightly out of place before taking a haymaker to the baby-maker) and sighed, a little disappointed. He had spent so long fighting Whitebeard, the unbeatable man, that any other kind of opponent was almost a letdown. It wasn't so much that Ace was exponentially stronger than he had been the last time he'd traversed the Grand Line; it was that he was much craftier. He'd spent all his time trying to think up new and unforeseen ways to use his power in battle when he was fighting Whitebeard, and those improvements in battle planning and basic ingenuity made his commonplace opponents… Well, to put it bluntly, he was under the impression all of them had serious mental defects that prevented them from fighting intelligently.

Then he turned and saw the huge bags of white powder.

The corners of his mouth crept upwards in an ironic imitation of a smile.

"…Fuck."

* * *

><p>(AN): Still sick and coughing my throat out. Not fun. But, I got my pay-cheque for judging that forensics tournament, so… there's that. I'm going back to college the day after tomorrow, so updates may come much more infrequently. The only reason I was able to do daily updates was because I was home on vacation. I'm sorry. They might only come every other day or every two days now.

I don't actually know if you can fiddle around with your vocal chords. I saw it on the television and I'm too lazy to research it this time.

Again, sorry for a largely unfunny chapter. It tends to happen when I want to have a coherent storyline. Oh, well.


	38. February 11th

So... been a while, huh? *headshot*

February 11th

Dead silence reigned. Okay, so technically, seagulls were loosing their cries off in the far distance, and the soft lapping of the waves upon the sides of the small vessel, and the sharp crack of canvas sails in the wind all meant that silence was perfectly impossible, but for the five or so occupants of the ship, the lack of spoken word was eerie.

"…So there I was, covered in peanut butter," Thatch began.

Silence was successfully broken, if the giggles were any indication. With any luck, they'd forget to ask about the second part of the story, given that there really wasn't one.

_-4 Hours Earlier-_

Ace was reckless. They all knew that. It was just one of those things that was really damn hard to miss. What kind of person challenged the most powerful pirate in the world to a death match not once, not twice, but a _hundred-odd times_? Crazy motherfuckers like Ace, that's who. What kind of person declared war on whole freaking nations just because they'd offed a couple of people he barely knew? Ace. What kind of person fell asleep in the middle of giant battles because he'd been staying up the whole night prior watching soap operas that weren't even in his native goddamn language?

All that being said, they really should have seen it coming. Maybe if the paperwork had crossed Marco's or Thatch's desk instead of Haruta's, they would have known to keep that shit quiet. But _nooo_, Haruta was in-charge of the Intelligence Division, and Haruta made all the calls on what was passed on to whom. Marco secretly suspected that Haruta was just happy to be sorting something into the Second Division's box after so long. Still, she should have known better.

And now Marco was looking at an empty room instead of at the young man who had been made Second Division Commander a little over a month ago.

He called himself nine kinds of idiot when he saw the stack of paperwork on Ace's desk, which was about three-quarters completed, and the note pinned to the wall and circled a good hundred times with… were those burn marks? Ace was paying to fix the wall when he got back, the little shit.

Marco read the note and understood. He wasn't happy in the slightest, but at least he understood.

_Report: February 7__th__,__1300 hours_

_Via 12__th__ Div. Jonah Wale, Shaboady post 3_

_Received February 11__th__ 0500 hours_

_Confirmed: 2__nd__ Div. Nicholas Yalqsi, Sniper Sector was taken prisoner at 0600 hours. Subsequent transfer to Shaboady slave markets at 0800 hours. Closely monitoring holding areas. Requesting immediate assistance – preferably dangerous and scary assistance. Further sit-reps if changes occur. Auction set for February 14__th__ at 0900 hours. No pressure or anything._

_I wasn't kidding about the dangerous and scary assistance, by the way._

It cleared up a lot of things. He knew where Ace was. He knew why Ace was there. He knew about when Ace would be back at the latest. He knew that Ace must have left as soon as he read the note, given that he didn't have the time to firstly tell Marco what was going on and secondly write a note of his own.

Nicholas Yalqsi. It was almost jarring to see Nick's full name. Nobody actually used full names much around Whitebeard's ship. Surnames were often just one more thing to separate them from one another when they all considered each other family, anyway. If they weren't related by blood, so what? Why bother to point that out yet again by referring to people by their familial names? Thus, pretty much no-one did it.

Marco could recall Ace and Nick being pretty damn cool with each other, even way back in Ace's let's-kill-everything phase. They had only gotten closer since Ace joined Second Division, and their friendship hadn't weakened when Ace was promoted last month. He'd caught the two of them talking about just about anything: Luffy, kittens, what spices worked best with steak, hair products, genetics, politics, economics, more kittens, Nick's little siblings Gwen and Myles, Regency-era novels, contemporary musicians versus classical composers, and – hell, Nick was the one who got Ace into those stupid foreign soap operas in the first place! When they got drunk late and night and Nick started to enter the stage of drunkenness that, for him, meant trying to be as offensive as humanly possible, Ace was the one the drag his sorry ass to bed, laughing off the crude remarks about his possible sexuality that Nick would spout from the floor.

And now that same Nick was set to be sold into slavery. Of course Ace was going to flip a shit and run there as fast as he could. Marco never should have let him craft that little speed boat thing. It made Ace damn difficult to control, because it meant not only that he could run off whenever he felt like it, but also that he was incredibly fast, and catching him at this late stage in the game was going to be all but impossible.

That didn't mean he wasn't going to try, though.

Marco didn't run, but rather walked very quickly to the kitchens to talk to Thatch. After a little bit of arguing, mostly regarding Marco's personal inclinations to keep Thatch from going anywhere (he was still thinking of Holli's not-quite-prediction from long ago, not that he could ever say something like that out loud) and Thatch's convictions that he needed to support his good friend and fellow crewmembers. Marco ended up losing the argument, as he normally did when he just got tired of bitching at a man who never listened anyway, and Mikhail, James, and Lauro ended up tagging along. All three were good friends of Nick's, and had at some point worked under Ace's command.

The plan was hastily thrown together: Lauro, being from 12th Division, had intel on the slave trading post building where Nick was supposedly being held. His intel wasn't extensive, but that could be easily fixed, because he knew how to get in contact with the comrade on the scene: Jonah. They would rendezvous with Jonah, pick up any extra information they could, and then work on how to get inside the building. If they met up with Ace, they would assist him or leave him tied to a tree, depending on how well his plan was thought-out. Most of it required playing by ear, which Marco absolutely hated doing, but there wasn't much of a choice. He could only hope that they met up with Ace early on.

They got together a small bit of food and their weapons, packing light, and took the old felucca Ace used to use before he got his speedboat, and just like that, they were off.

-_flash to present-_

"Slowly… slowly…" Marco murmured, more to himself than the others.

"I thought we were kind of in a rush, here," Lauro said.

"That's no reason to capsize our whole damn boat," Marco said. "It's going to cost us, what, two minutes? Keep your pants on."

They pulled gradually on the ropes slung around the poles on the dock, careful not to bump anything they wanted to remain intact for later.

"Remember to make the knots loose, gentlemen," Mikhail said. "I expect we'll be in a bit of a hurry when we have need of casting off again."

"There's that," Thatch said.

James pulled the last knot some semblance of tight, then tested its strength. Perfect. With one tug of the loose end, the knot would come undone, but it would hold firm until then.

"Well, then, we'd best be off. Grab your things, everyone," Marco said. They did so. "Lauro, this is your territory, right? Lead the way."

"Got it."

It didn't take them five minutes to find the right hut. Or was it an apartment? Regardless, the scant building was tucked away in a corner between two other townhouse-like complexes. Lauro knocked on door with both hands in a complicated beat, then scraped the blade of his knife against the wood. A muted, faraway beat of knuckles on wood responded, along with a weak, "Door's unlocked."

Lauro pushed the door wide to reveal Jonah, reclining on an old, but serviceable couch, eating a sandwich. The tightly-bound and splinted left leg explained why Jonah hadn't been making any rescue attempts of his own.

"Why the hell would you leave the door unlocked?" Mikhail asked, voicing Marco's own thoughts. Well, he _had_ served in Marco's division for seven years, after all. "There are nastier folk than us wandering around Shaboady these days."

"Because I knew you guys were en route," he said, smiling. "Ace-Taichou let me know that you guys might not let him do things his own way."

"So he was here?" Thatch asked sharply.

"He was. He wanted what I assume you guys are after right now – intel on the trading post, right?"

"Well… yeah. But what did you tell him?"

"I didn't have to tell him anything. He just wanted a diagram of the place, which I drew and gave him right quick enough. He didn't say a word, so it's beyond me what the specifics are of his plan, but I can draw you the diagram as well, if you'd like."

"Please," Marco said.

"So, you think he's already made his move?" asked Thatch.

"Oh, I know he has. Ace hates to sit on his hands," Marco said.

"Then we should probably be heading out soon ourselves," James said.

Marco shook his head. "We need to figure out what he's planning first. That way we can find him easier. Even if we just get a vague idea of where he'd be going, it's enough to potentially run into him and combine our forces… Once I've said my part, that is."

"Which, knowing you, is going to involve cussing him out for thinking that it's okay to throw himself into dangerous situations without consulting anyone and leaving only a note to indicate where he'd gone?"

"Exactly." Thatch winced in sympathy.

"Done," Jonah announced. He set the diagram of the building on the coffee table. "That's the upper level," he said as he indicated, "and that's the lower level, where the holding cells are. I don't know too much about the lower levels, but I doubt it's too complicated."

"Security?" Marco asked.

Two guards at all times on either side of the main entry and exit doors. Key card access. The whole thing's annoying as hell. There are also alarm buttons that each guard comes with, so if even one of the four manages to hit the button, you're screwed, because about twenty more guys, armed to the teeth, are going to come along to kick you out, and that's only after they cut off card access and lock the hell out of that door. The guards won't be troublesome for guys like you, but a locked door is a considerably bigger problem."

"Can they be blown up? Hinges removed? I'm trying to think like Ace-Taichou here," Lauro said.

Jonah smiled wryly. "Nope. That shit's reinforced steel. The hinges are internal and recessed, so there's no way to get to them from either the inside _or_ outside. You expected them to take security lightly?"

"So then how the hell is Ace-Taichou planning on getting in?" Mikhail muttered.

"We really do need to try to think the way he does," Marco said.

Thatch snorted. "Only one problem with that: Ace is one smart little bastard. For all we know, he can make some sort of steel-melting compound with drain cleaner and lemonade. We haven't got anyone as smart as he is with us at the moment."

"Yes, we do," Marco said. His eyes stared straight at Thatch.

"Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me."

"Wish I were."

"…Hey, what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Don't look into it too much. Ace didn't ask about what the doors were made out of, right?" Jonah shook his head. "Well then, just looking at this diagram must have given him all the information he needed. Just try," Marco said as he handed the paper to Thatch. Only with a long-suffering sigh did he take it.

Thatch stared at the paper for a few minutes. His brow was furrowed and he had a look on his face like he didn't expect anything to come of this. Eventually, he tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"…Where's the garbage chute?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"Look," Thatch said, putting the paper on the coffee table and spinning it around. "There are stairs to get up to the main floor from the front entrance, which tells me that the main floor is a good bit higher up than your typical ground floor. But there are no stairs down. The back exit is from the lower level, not the main floor. The kitchen is on the main floor. The dumpsters are out back, but look how close they are to the building. Normally, people want stuff that stinks as far away as possible. If they could leave straight from the kitchens to toss their rubbish into the dumpster, that would be one thing, but they can't. They'd have to go all the way to the front of the building, downstairs, and then all the way to the back of the building just to throw something away. Answer: it's close to the building because nobody wants to have to go through all that. There's got to be a garbage chute from the kitchens straight down to the dumpsters out back. So where is it?"

Marco stared at his fellow Division Commander for a few seconds, then grinned widely. "You see? You can do it if you try."

"Oh, shut up."

* * *

><p>It wasn't like they had expected entry through the garbage chute to be <em>fragrant<em>… but still.

"Wouldn't the smell give Ace-Taichou away?" Lauro asked. "Maybe he didn't come in this way."

"Wishful thinking," Marco said. "He could just ignite and burn away whatever was on him that was making the smell."

"Well, what about us? You're the only one that can light up among us," Mikhail said.

"Well, then, I guess you're shit out of luck," Marco said. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Sorry. I'm just a little tense."

"Eh, don't worry about it."

"So, we'd be best off trying not to touch the walls at all, if we can," Thatch said. "Just to keep the smell from sticking."

"We can try that, yeah." They all nodded.

James, being the tallest among them, gave boosts to get them all up into the chute with little trouble. Marco hung back, going pale and swallowing to cover up how nervous he was.

At last, Marco was the only one left after James had been pulled up.

"Dude, what are you waiting for?" Thatch asked. "Fly up already!"

"Thatch… You remember the Cypran Islands back in '17?"

Thatch frowned. "Vaguely… Oh!" He grinned. "I can't believe I forgot. You poor bastard. You should have said something earlier."

"Huh? What's wrong?" Lauro asked.

In spite of Marco's rushed gestures demanding he say nothing, Thatch went right ahead. "Marco's claustrophobic as hell."

"Wait, really?"

"You're kidding."

"My goodness."

"If you've all finished gossiping like _babushka_ up there, make some room for me, damn it!" Marco hissed.

He transformed into his bird form, shuddering as he entered the chute. Okay, so it wasn't as small and cramped as he thought it was going to be, but it was still bad.

"Okay Marco, you can change back now," Thatch said.

"…No."

"Oh, criminey."

"What? You have a problem with that? This body is smaller, so the chute doesn't feel that tiny. How about I give _you_ a crippling fear and then force _you_ to deal with it at a moment's notice! If you're allowed your coping mechanisms, then I better as hell be allowed mine," Marco snapped.

Thatch wisely decided to let it go. "Let's just get moving."

When they came upon the end of the chute, which luckily led into a hallway rather than into the busy kitchen, they made Marco check first. They figured that if someone discovered a bird in the garbage chute, they'd be less inclined to call security, figuring that he'd just flown up by accident. The coast was clear.

The four men and one bird filed into the hall as quickly as possible, darting into a recessed portion of the wall.

"Okay, so my 'do it like a ninja' plan hasn't worked so well," Thatch commented, sniffing his smock. "Slight change of plans."

"You mean we had plans in the first place?" Mikhail asked innocently.

"There's a time and a place, Mikhail."

"What, I'm wrong?"

"Just follow me. The diagram said there's a supply closet across the hall there. If we're lucky, they'll have uniforms our size."

They crammed themselves through the door opposite them as quickly as possible, eyes flicking up and down the hallway to check for any unexpected company. Once they were in, they kept their eyes glued to the door as Marco closed it as quietly as possible. An audible sigh of relief went up. At least, until they turned around and saw Ace, halfway through pulling on a pair of uniform pants and frozen in place.

No-one could afford to start a shouting match while in enemy territory, but Marco's face turned an incredible shade of dark red trying to hold it back.

When Marco had yet to say a single word, Ace grinned guiltily. "So… hi. Fancy seeing you lot here."

"You-! You… you little-!" Marco was probably going to start frothing at the mouth any minute. Instead, he just heaved air in and out of his lungs, throttling the air with claw like fingers. "You are in nine kinds of deep shit when we get home, you hear?"

"Only nine?" Ace asked. He knew he was pushing it, but he had to. His mouth kept moving before his brain did, and it was just one of those days. He ignored Marco's enraged birdlike squawking and tossed the men uniforms in their respective sizes.

"I was planning on hanging around in the kitchens until they send down lunch to the cells when I could blow shit up, as is my prerogative, and I don't intend to change that plan just because you guys showed up. You in?"

"We are," Thatch hurried to say. "Just give us a minute to change clothes." He grinned. "Anyone else feeling like we dropped into a bad heist film?"

* * *

><p>Nick could feel the bruise over his right eye throbbing like mad. His wrists were rubbed raw from the cuffs he was forced to wear. And now he had to argue with <em>this<em> imbecile. Oh, yeah. His day was going _great_(!)

"There's no way you're a Whitebeard Pirate," the guard was saying.

"I'm telling you, I am. How badly do you want to risk war with the most powerful Yonkou in the Grand Line, eh? You sure you want to take risks like that? Is your pay that great that you're willing to risk it?"

"You haven't got a tattoo, and I hear all his guys have a tattoo on 'em somewhere."

Nick sighed angrily. "I'm allergic to the dyes in tattoo ink. Of _course_ I don't have the damn tattoo."

"I don't believe a word of it," the guard chuckled, his face contorted in savage mockery.

"I'm up to my tits in morons!" Nick muttered. He received a harsh slap across the face for his troubles. Suddenly, there were hands on either side of his shirt collar.

"Listen here, trash," the guard growled, "I can make the rest of your life, pathetic as it is, a living hell. Mess with me and I'll make sure that happens. You're a slave here, and I'm your jailer. Respectable, see? I'm worth way more to society than you'll ever be. You just remember that."

Nick winced. "I'd be so much more inclined to take you seriously on that if you'd just bathe once or twice a month… maybe some mouthwash. I'm just sayin'."

The guard threw him into the back wall of his cell, slamming the cage door behind him as he stalked out of the holding area. Nick just grinned despite the new pains in his face and spine.

He rolled the guard's pen around between his fingers. Well, honestly, what kind of pirate would he be if he couldn't even properly pickpocket someone?

He unscrewed the top and began disassembling the pen. With the cartridge and the spring (once he'd straightened it out enough for use), he jammed both into the lock on his cuffs and began to poke around. Within thirty seconds, he knew the lock's mechanism as well as his sister's face. It was open in another ten seconds.

He crept over to the cell door, eyes constantly flicking to the door to the holding area behind which two guards, including the one he'd just pickpocketed, were stationed. It wouldn't take any effort at all for one of them to peek into the room through the barred window in the door and see Nick. He'd just have to make this quick.

"OI! YOU!"

…Whoops. Too late. Well, at least he'd gotten the cell door open.

The guard (just the one – apparently, they had agreed that only one guard was needed for someone as thin and scraggly-looking as Nick) swung wildly at Nick's face. Nick ducked low (best defense against a punch: don't be there, as his father would say) and jammed an elbow into the taller, beefier man's solar plexus. He was going to feel _that_ tomorrow. He tried to jump back in preparation for the guard's counterattack, but just wasn't quick enough. A fist collided with his collarbone and he saw stars as he fell to the ground.

_Shit, shit, shit. If ever I have made a true friend in life, let him be here now._

* * *

><p>Ace was surprisingly efficient in the kitchen. It probably helped that it was damn near impossible for him to burn himself on anything, so he wasn't dancing around appliances as much as the others were. All six of them had easily gotten away with saying that they were temporary workers, but only Ace and Thatch had been given tasks involving actual cooking. The other were relegated to dish duty, or getting together ingredients for those who did the <em>real<em> work. It was kind of annoying just how much Ace and Thatch were enjoying themselves while the others got stuck with the menial labour.

"All right, guys!" called the head chef. "It's lunchtime! We need some guys to bring everything down to the cells!"

All six of them jumped to attention right away. This was what they had been waiting for all this time.

The head chef did a quick count. "We're gonna need one more… Andrew?" A lanky boy, probably about seventeen, popped up out of nowhere.

"Yes, sir?"

"You go with them to hand out lunch. Try not to drop anything this time."

"Yes, sir! I won't, sir!"

Ace, Marco, and Thatch all exchanged glances. Well, _this_ was something of a wrench in plans.

Each grabbed a tray laden with food and filed out of the kitchens. Ace's jaw locked and his eyes narrowed in swift calculation. Marco saw the look and decided to leave the issue of Andrew to him.

As they neared the supply closet in the hallway, Ace paused. "Hey, can we stop for a second?" He set his tray down on the ground gingerly.

"Huh? Why – Hey, what the hell are you-?" Ace, fast as anything, grabbed Andrew's arm and shoved him into the supply closet, melting part of the hinges so that the door would not open with anything short of a pickaxe.

"Let's go, let's go, let's go!" Ace cried. "They're gonna hear him soon! Leave the damn food!" They obeyed and began to run after him.

Hurtling along the corridors at near light speed, they reached the lower levels quickly. The guard at the door to the holding area had almost no time to defend himself and was struck down by James in a single blow to the back of the neck.

"I see Nick!" Mikhail cried, pointing through the window in the door.

Using the fallen guard's key card, Ace threw the door open. Nick was on the ground with a guard's chunky hand around his throat, clawing at it in vain. Ace made to dart forward, but Marco grabbed his arm and yanked him back.

"No, Ace. This is something he has to do for himself."

"No, it isn't!" Nick gasped out in panic.

"_Oh_! Well, okay then." Marco slammed a porcelain bowl into the back of the man's head, knocking him unconscious. "Shall we?"

"The back door's just around there. Come on," Lauro said.

Ace took Nick's arm and helped yank him up. "Thanks Mum," Nick wheezed out.

"Only because it's you, Nick, and only because it's this one time. But, in all seriousness, don't worry about it. This is a normal Saturday for me, to be honest."

"Yeah. For you, it would be."

They both took off running around the hallway that extended around the rear of the holding area.

"BACK IT UP!" Nick bellowed as well as he was able, sprinting to the head of the group. Slowly, his back began to lower. His arms reached down to touch the ground and his face elongated. Skin melted into a smooth, creamy white hide and a strange protrusion emerged from his face. Ace began to slow, as did most of the others in awe.

Nick was a unicorn.

Well, technically, no he wasn't; he was just a mythical type Zoan, but still. Holy shit.

The guards at the back door were struck dumb just as much as the others were, and Nick speared them on his horn with little trouble. Ace noted that he avoided any vital organs when he did so.

"Are you going to stand around gawking, or are you gonna get going?" Nick demanded. They took a moment to pull their jaws up from the floor and leave, taking out the two guards on the other side of the back door.

And just like that, Nick was free.

"Ace, what the hell are you doing? Come on!" Thatch yelled. Ace had hung behind for some inexplicable reason and was doing something to the brick wall of the establishment, although they couldn't see what.

"I'm coming, I'm coming! Two seconds, I swear!"

"We haven't _got_ two seconds!"

"I'm working on it; don't rush me!"

Ace finally finished whatever the hell he was doing and used his flames as jet propulsion to catch up with the others.

"What in the flying fuck was _that_?" Marco demanded.

"Just something for them to remember us by," Ace said mysteriously. "More importantly, Nick! Dude! What was _that_?"

Nick had reverted back to human form and was blushing red all over. "I'm a unicorn Zoan. Don't tell anybody."

"Well, why the hell not? That's awesome!"

"No, it's embarrassing! It's girly as hell. I'm serious – don't tell anybody!" Nick begged.

"Okay, okay… But why didn't you do that before?" Ace asked.

Nick coughed. "Er… well… I couldn't."

"Huh?"

"I can only transform when there's a virgin around."

Dead silence. And then all eyes turned to Ace.

"Oh, go to hell. All of you can just go to hell."

* * *

><p>The owner and manager of the slave trading post had had an awful day. One of the slaves had escaped, and most of his guards had been seriously injured in the process. And now… this.<p>

No-one had even known what the problem was until it had begun to get dark as night rolled in. He had wondered why some people had come into his business, laughing about something, and unable to answer his questions about what was so funny, because it just made them laugh harder. Well, now he knew.

One of the bastards who helped his slave escape had drawn a giant penis on the side of the building in glow-in-the-dark paint.

* * *

><p>(AN): Schoolwork has swamped me. I refuse to be sorry. I didn't expect the level of work, and it's just been drowning me lately. It's also shown that I really can't keep up the pace of this fic at all. Two or three more chapters after this one, and that's probably going to be it. _That_ I'm kind of sorry about. I do love these guys. I'm going to miss them.

Hi Hikari No Kaze requested another mythical Zoan type. Check.

PureWinter requested somebody from Whitebeard's ship getting caught up in the slave trade by accident. Check.

I wanted somebody to draw a giant dick on something. Double Check.

I'm feeling kind of boss all of sudden and I can't think why. Oh, well. I really hope you like this chapter. I made it all manner of extra-long to partially compensate for how fucking long it's been since I've updated. At least I didn't make you guys wait a year like I do with most of my other stories! Ehehehehehe… I'm a terrible person.

Hey, guys. Sixty-four original characters in this one fic. SIXTY-FOUR. Mater dei.


	39. December 31st

BACK AGAIN, DAHLINGS. Thank God I didn't make you wait a month and change like last time, huh?

December 31st

Christmas had been nice. Warm and bright, despite the dark and the cold that persisted at this time of year, mostly because the crew of the Moby Dick stayed down in the mess hall as much as they could. Norma hadn't left her regular Christmas-related haze of good cheer yet, and as far as Ace could figure, he had a good week or two before then. His birthday was tomorrow, so maybe he could weasel something nice out of her while she was still like this.

He felt awful, though.

Not about his birthday. Well, sort of about his birthday. But not really. He was turning nineteen. When the hell had he gotten so old? Nineteen was almost twenty, and twenty was an appalling number. Twenty meant that Luffy would be seventeen and setting out on his own, and that was shocking all by itself. Okay, so time was going too quickly. That happened to everyone who suddenly found themselves becoming adults. But this was different.

Ace had heard the whispers left and right.

"_Hey, you know Ace?"_

"_Yeah! He's the dude who took out Skarsby brothers, right?"_

"_Yeah. And the one who had command of the Ryalos siege."_

"_No shit? That was him?"_

"_I know, right?"_

"_I heard how that went down. Thing of beauty, I heard."_

"_It was. Fourteen guys, fifteen including him. Took out the entire damn command structure of a naval base in less than ten minutes and then left the small fries for First Division. The guy's a genius."_

"_Which division is he in again?"_

"_Second."_

"_Hey… You don't think…?"_

"_They might be thinking about it, yeah. I sure would if I were them. How often do you find a guy like Ace?"_

He'd been tickled pink, but had paid no heed to whatever they'd been talking about towards the end. Well, he had an inkling, but he hadn't wanted to think about the possibility. Then it had gotten slightly more obvious.

"_Ugh, still no commander for Second Division?"_

"_I know. I can't believe Haruta-Taichou shoved all this shit onto us."_

"_Seriously. The commander should be taking care of all this shit. We're not even part of Second Division! How are we supposed to keep track of all of this?"_

"_They need to just promote Ace to the position already."_

"_Amen to that."_

…Okay. Less difficult to ignore. He was still kind of pleased, but there was something dark looming in the back of his mind that damn near paralysed him with fear whenever he tried to examine it too closely. So he didn't examine it too closely. Problem solved, right? Wrong. It kept being shoved in his face. The blatant references were suffocating.

"_Hey, Ace-Taichou!"_

"_Shut up, man. He hasn't been promoted yet."_

"_Yet. Any day now, I swear. But don't worry! You'll always be our widdle Acey-kins. Don't you worry 'bout a thing, Taich- whoops, sorry."_

"_Asshole."_

"_What? What did I say? What part of that was wrong?"_

"_Just shut up. Can't you see he doesn't like you calling him that?"_

It was only getting worse. It could only continue to get worse. And then he heard the worst possible news of his life. Or maybe it was the best. He couldn't decide.

"_I know we've been joking about Ace being a Commander for a while now."_

"_Yeah, so?"_

"_So, they finally made it official."_

"_What, seriously? Holy shit, really? He's officially Second Division Commander? That's fantastic! I totally called it. Pay up, bitches. The bet was five hundred berries, as I recall?"_

"_Well, he's not Second Division Commander just yet. They're gonna promote him officially-officially on his birthday."_

"_When's that?"_

"_New Years'."_

"_Then I haven't got long to wait for my money, have I?"_

…Aww, piss. It hadn't been some kind of sick joke, after all. It was really happening. It really was. He was so screwed.

They didn't know. Bless their hearts, they didn't know. He had done everything in his power to keep anyone from ever finding out. And now they were trusting him with something like this, when he was still keeping secrets from them?

For the last seven months, not counting his first hundred days aboard the Moby Dick, he had learned that Division Commanders were practically divine in nature among the crew. Sure, they would joke amongst themselves and laugh and eat with their Commanders as they would with any other crewmember, but in the midst of battle, when you were about to die, the fact remained that you prayed to your Division Commander instead of any god. You followed your Commander to Hell and back if he asked it of you. To outsiders, the Commanders were extensions of Whitebeard himself, and were only slightly less terrifying. It was one thing to be responsible for a small handful of people. It was a-whole-nother goddamn ballpark to be responsible for the lives of every single one of the two hundred or so people that comprised Second Division, spread out all over the world. It would mean not only protecting every last one of his subordinates, it would mean representing Whitebeard to the world. They trusted him too much if they expected him to bear that kind of responsibility. They trusted him far too much, and with no real reason to do so as far as Ace was concerned. What had he done to prove himself worthy? Knocked a few guys over the head? He probably would have ended up doing that anyway. Taken their symbol upon himself? Any mendacious piece of shit could do that and never mean a word of his vows.

That was what Ace was, wasn't it? He'd been lying through his teeth since practically the dawn of time. He called these people his friends when he didn't even trust them with his secrets. How fair was that?

And now they were planning on granting him what was basically the highest honour it was possible to receive.

That was it.

They had to know.

* * *

><p>Ace breathed deeply and counted to twenty-three in his head, just because twenty-three was one of his lucky numbers. He raised a hand to knock on the massive wooden door… and then stepped back to count to twenty-three a second time. He raised his hand again, trembling. Just before his knuckles hit the door, a warm, booming voice said, "Oh, just come in already, Ace."<p>

He coloured and opened the door. "So… Hi, Oyaji."

"It's late. Surely even a narcoleptic needs some semblance of a regular sleep pattern?"

He looked so warm and bright in the candlelight, an open book in his lap. Ace recognised it as an Ellery Queen compilation of short stories and allowed a small grin to slip through. He had recommended them to Whitebeard ages ago. But then the grin vanished. Whitebeard was concerned for his sake. He was being a parent, and a loving one, too. He really hoped it wasn't the last time he was going to see that caring expression.

His brain cheerily informed him that considering that whole bit where his biological father and Whitebeard were huge enemies back in the day, he was probably fucked. _Would you kindly just shut the fuck up?_ he asked it. _This is hard enough as it is._

_Don't ask The Question._

_Don't ask The Question._

_Phrase it any other way – just don't ask The Question._

"What would you do… if Gold Roger had a son?"

_Fuck. Great going, there, genius(!)_

Whitebeard sat back thoughtfully. "I'm meant to care?"

…Well, _that_ was a new response.

Whitebeard continued. "If Roger had a son, that hardly means that he and his son are the same person. What does it matter?"

Ace near-choked on his own breath. "So… So you wouldn't hate him?"

"Hardly. He's going to have to earn my ire like everybody else: by being an insufferable twat and nothing less."

"But what if he'd been lying to you this whole time?" Ace said.

"Again, I don't see why I should care."

Ace swallowed hard. His hopes were dangerously high at this point, but he didn't dare look Whitebeard in the eyes as he said it. "…It's me. I'm Gol D. Roger's son."

The silence couldn't have been for more than three seconds, but they felt like years.

Eventually, Whitebeard spoke. "That's it?"

Ace's head snapped up, an expression of incredulity and shock on his face. "What the hell do you mean, 'that's it'? This is kind of important in case you hadn't noticed!"

"Oh, do stuff it, Ace. You are you, and you are my son. End of story. Now good night. You might not need rest, but everyone else on this ship does."

Ace's legs somehow carried him out of Whitebeard's cabin, closing the door softly behind him. They then took him down the stairs to the second deck where the Commanders' cabins were. The cabin for the Second Division Commander had been empty for quite some time, and Second Division had begged for Ace to use it after they realised that having a Fire user in a highly flammable hammock suspended above an unsuspecting crewmate was a bad fucking idea. He went in, closing the door almost silently behind him. He turned, back against the wood, and slowly slid down, giggling nervously, in utter disbelief.

"He doesn't hate me," he whispered in wonder. "He doesn't hate me."

* * *

><p>"Hey, Aaaaaaace~," Thatch's voice called from outside the door. "Guess what day it iiiiiiiiis."<p>

"Boxing Day?"

"That was ages ago, you nitwit."

"It is way too damn early for you to expect genius from me. Come back around noon and I will be brilliant as usual."

Thatch kicked in Ace's door, probably just because he liked kicking in doors. "Even dumbasses remember what their birthday is! Come on, man, come on! We've got a surprise waiting up on deck!"

"Surprise?" Ace mumbled, face still buried in his pillow. "I can get down with that."

"Thought so," Thatch chuckled in victory. As he yanked Ace's still-sleepy ass up on deck, he bellowed, "Hey, everybody! The zombie has arisen!" A whooping cheer went up.

"Congratulations, Ace!"

"Congrats, my man!"

"I'm so proud!"

Marco went up to him and slapped an arm around Ace's shoulders. "Congratulations, Ace! You've just been promoted to Commander of the Second Division of the Whitebeard Pirate Conglomerate. Bask in that awhile, and when you come back, we've got a feast laid out. Y'know, considering that it's your birthday and all, too."

Ace blinked in the sun almost blankly. There was no guilt. There was no pressure in the back of his mind, scary and unavoidable. There were no shadows in his head that needed to be chased out. He was free at last.

And so he did the only thing that made sense at the time.

He shovelled food into his mouth as fast as it would go, regardless of whether or not it would fit.

And then he passed out in a narcoleptic fit that had half the crew going, "Yup. That's Ace-Taichou all right."

* * *

><p>(AN): Appallingly fun to write this time. Angst? Sort of. People laughing at your angst just to screw with you? Definitely. Oh, Edward Newgate, you are one lolzy old man.

I really do love this fic. I'm almost up to 100,000 words and I'm psyched. If you search "ace whitebeard", and narrow to search to English, you only get three fics that are over 50K words long, and aside from this one, the other two are both shipping ones. One is SmokerxAce (I've read it, and it's actually pretty damn good. The writer does a great job and the shipping is not overt at ALL) and the other is AcexOC (KILL IT WITH FIRE – I HAVEN'T EVEN READ IT AND I DON'T NEED TO). All of my sads. I'm a little depressed that there are so few Whitebeard and Ace fics out there. You only get 49 of them in English and one in Spanish. Nothing else. That's just pathetic. We seriously need a bigger WBP fandom, you guys. Or just a group somewhere. Some compilation of the good fics with no pairings, few or no obvious grammar errors, decent writing and plots, and just… The good shit. I've found a couple great fics out there, but they tend to be short and not especially numerous. Again, all of my sads.

I feel really bad about trying to bring this story to a halt next chapter. I'd forgotten how fun these were to write. Maybe I'll cheat and keep going. Just for the lolz, mind. Or maybe just start a whole new fic. Actually, I'm kind of liking that idea. Anybody interested? Toss me ideas for plotlines people; I need 'em.

I love you guys so much. Thank you for not shooting me in the head because I didn't post anything for a month and change.


	40. Day 63 AND May 30th

So… remember when I said this would be the last chapter? WELL I LIED. DEAL WITH IT.

May 30th

He thought it had been funny. A shame so few others thought so. Okay, so maybe pretending to have (very, very communicable) leprosy on a boat with a whole bunch of people who were terrified of getting sick was probably not the best idea he'd had. It still was kind of funny. It got him out of cleaning the toilets, at least.

And so, as slight punishment, he had toilet duty for the next solid month, and he had to fork up the cash for the next month's newspapers. He also would have to sift through the mail. Now, that wouldn't have been so bad on its own, but Marco knew damn well that Ace hated newspaper ink on his hands. To him, it was like nails on a chalkboard. The feel of the paper, the microscopic particles that stuck to his fingers… Well, at least Marco let him wear gloves. There was also something downright unnatural about a Division Commander cleaning toilets and sorting mail, but apparently, everybody had a go at it. Everybody but Marco, who long ago learned that he could get out of chores by lighting things on fire 'accidentally'. For those who don't know, when excrement is burned, it is aerosolised… which is most distinctly unpleasant for anyone and everyone with a nose. Ace had considered doing the same more times than he would ever admit to, but some honourable (read: stupid) part of him wanted to do things the right way, without cheating.

And so here he was with his gloves, which were actually for gardening and also stolen from brunette Hannah, waiting for the News Pigeon that was supposed to come any second, unless it was running (flying?) late.

He narrowed his eyes. That black speck was probably it. That, or it was some other bird just up there to taunt him. No, it was getting closer. And it had wee little packs on either side of its body to hold the mail. It was definitely a News Pigeon.

Ace got out the money ahead of time. He hated it when the stupid birds started pecking the shit out of him when he didn't pay right away. How did the newspaper-printing companies train them, anyway? They weren't even regular pigeons. In the Grand Line, everything was scarier, so the pigeons were less pigeon-sized and more like goddamn albatrosses.

It flew down and lit on the railing. Ace grabbed the paper it yanked out of the knapsack and tossed the coin slightly to the bird's left, just to screw with it. After cawing what were most likely bird curses, it departed.

Ace unfolded the paper. He didn't know why he kept doing it. There was never anything good to report these days, anyway. And besides, it had only been, what, 25 days since Luffy had left home? Not that he had been counting or anything. It had taken Ace a decent while just to get together a crew, let alone get himself a headline in a newspaper. Still, a big brother could dream.

At that point, the new Wanted posters fell out of the middle pages. He spared them a quick glance – that is, until he recognised someone.

* * *

><p>"AWWWWWWWW YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!" Ace screamed, dancing around the deck. "MOTHER OF GOD, FUCKING YES!" He was giggling like a madman and clutching a piece of paper to his chest like it had precise directions to One Piece on it.<p>

"Er, Ace? What drugs are you on and why didn't you share?" Thatch asked.

"No! No, no, nonono, you don't understand," Ace said, catching his breath. "Look. Look here. You see this? See it?"

Thatch tried to push away the paper that had suddenly been pressed into his face. "It's a Wanted poster. Big fuckin' deal."

"Gah!" Ace cried out in protest. "You see, but do not observe! Look closer. Tell me when you see it." He bounced in place, tense and flushed with excitement.

It was some kid with a huge grin. Whoop-de-fricking-doo. Wait… The name was – "-Monkey D Luffy?"

"Yes!" Ace burst out. "You see? That's him! That's my baby brother! Lookit! Look at how damn cute he is? You see this? And that's his first bounty – he hasn't even been out to sea a full month yet. I'm so fuckin' proud!" Ace wiped away very real tears. "My baby's all grown up and breaking international law. Bless his little rubber heart."

"Oh, God. There are seriously going to be two of you little bastards running around now, aren't there?" Thatch muttered, aghast.

"Yes. Yes, there are."

"You don't have to sound so damn smug about it."

Ace shook his head. "You don't understand. I really do."

"All right! All right," Thatch said. "Go show Oyaji."

"'Kay!" Ace scampered away, still practically shitting a brick from joy.

Thatch turned to Marco, who had seen the entire thing. "We're all fucked, aren't we?"

"Harbour no doubt, my friend. One D brother is all the world can handle at once."

* * *

><p><span>Day 63<span>

Whitebeard could hear him very clearly. The walls of his cabin might be mostly soundproofed (the crew had begged him for that feature once they realised that his snoring occasionally produced _actual_ earthquakes), but the door was less so.

"Ace, if you're going to try to sleep outside my door, I'll have to advise against it. I might step on you come morning."

The door opened and Ace darted in very quickly, presumably to keep anyone on deck from seeing him do it. "How'd you know I was there?" Whitebeard just raised an eyebrow, the picture of sarcasm. "…Right."

"Any particular reason you didn't want to sleep where you normally sleep?" Whitebeard asked.

Ace didn't respond for a good while, his eyes darting everywhere. Whitebeard wondered if he was going to have to ask a second time when Ace unsteadily pulled forth a small book from one of the massive pockets on his cargo pants. He squinted his eyes and recognised the cover.

"'Amensia: The Dark Descent'? That's from my collection, isn't it?" He gestured to the large bookcase behind him, the open shelves closed off with sliding glass panes to keep them from falling off as the ship moved through more turbulent seas. Indeed, a spot in one of the shelves was empty.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to dick around with your stuff, but…"

Well, this was new. Ace never apologised for much of anything. Or, rather, if he did, he would apologise to Marco or Thatch and ask them to pass the word along. Never in person. "I understand. The siren's song of a good book, eh?" Ace smiled shakily. "You're welcome to borrow my books when you like. Just return them in the same condition to the correct place, and ask me before you take them out of this room."

Ace nodded. "Of course."

"All that aside, what on earth prompted you to read a horror novel?" Whitebeard asked.

The young man paled a little. "Didn't think it would be that scary…" he muttered.

Whitebeard wanted to laugh _so badly_. He was probably going to piss the hell out of Ace if he did, though, and this was the most amicable speech they'd ever had. He didn't want to ruin it. It just went to show that even though Ace was mostly a man, there were still parts of him that remained a child. Of course, the book he'd chosen at random _had_ been the most terrifying novel Whitebeard had ever read, such to the point where he used to lend it out to his Division Commanders just to scare the living piss out of them with loud noises in the middle of the night. Still, none of his Commanders had ever tried to sleep in or near someone else's room to ward off the nightmares.

Whitebeard sighed. "Shut up and bring your things in here."

Ace's head snapped up. "Huh?"

"I heard from Navigation that we're expecting a storm tonight. You may as well bring your things in here where there's a roof," Whitebeard said, lying through his teeth.

Ace looked unsure as to what he should actually do to give the right impression, but the relief in his eyes was unmistakable. "Okay," he said, and left to get his blanket and pillow.

Whitebeard chortled to himself. Kids were so damn cute.

* * *

><p>(AN): Okay, so when I said that _this_ chapter would be the last chapter, I actually meant that _next_ chapter, or maybe the chapter after next will be the last chapter. Sorry. I just got a flood of good ideas at the last minute and was like, "Fuck it. May as well." Shorter chapter, but, y'know, these were one-shots in amongst the one-shots. So sue me.

If you liked this story (still like it, I hope, judging from the wonderful things people have said in reviews…), I've started another One Piece story that is slightly more coherent in storyline. The title is "If Vision is the Only Validation". Just… y'know… if you're interested. It's Ace-centric again. Like I said way back when, Ace is my plot bunny to end all plot bunnies. I'm just letting you know I've got things planned that even I think are kickass. /attentionwhore/

I changed my pen name! My friends call me Auntie and people on the internet call me Nadeshiko, and I'm not that much of an angel no matter how you spin it, so I messed around with it to suit my preferences. Since I consider you all awesome people and great friends, anyway, I figured you've got rights to call me Auntie as much as anybody. ;)


	41. Day 85

DISCLAIMER: Oh, hey! I'm not even sure if I've had one of these in here yet. Well, as you all know, most of these characters don't belong to me in the least. A right shame, that.

Don't like drama queens? Then skip this chapter, because you're going to hate me if you keep going. Otherwise, by all means, tally ho.

Day 85

Selma sighed. "Should have seen this coming," she said.

"Seen what coming? That doesn't sound good," Ace said.

"You've been shot in the lung, asshole. You expected sunshine and roses? Anyway, your blood pressure is lower than I generally like in my patients, you still have a slight fever – although I'm not sure if that's just a by-product of your Fire Logia – and your breathing is concerning the hell out of me," she said.

"Well, I _did_ get shot in the _lung_. You expected sunshine and roses?" Ace quoted.

"Cut the sarcasm. You're a twat-waffle whether to put extra effort into it or not."

"'Twat-waffle'? There's one I haven't heard before."

"Naturally. I made it up just now and no, you can't use it. I think you should stop talking so much, too. I'd say you have Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome," Selma said.

"I'm not in too much distress right now, actually," Ace said.

"Your breathing is much too fast for someone who has spent the last several days abed and the air sounds like it's crackling in your throat. Fluid has gotten into your lungs and the cells that dissolve oxygen into the bloodstream are concentrated at the bottom of your lungs – which is right where gravity is going to bring that fluid. Breathing is going to be a hell of a lot harder for a little while. You see why I'm trying to keep you from speaking? Your body needs what air you can get."

Ace rolled his eyes and raised a hand in the gesture meaning, 'Okay.' He raised the other hand. 'How do I fix it?' he signed.

"Not much you can do at this point. The Syndrome is a direct result of the injury, and it should heal and go away just fine on its own. Still, if you don't want me to have to stick a tube in your chest, stay in bed. I'm putting you on antibiotics and diuretics to get rid of infection and the excess fluid. I'm also going to have to keep a really close eye on you and see if we're going to have to hook you up to an oxygen tank. I'm hoping you're not going to need that shit, but… I'll do what I have to do to keep you breathing, all right?"

Ace nodded and signed a 'thank you'.

Selma gave a rare, razor-thin smile. "You're welcome. Before I start you on medication, though, I want to double check your blood work. I might also toss in an echocardiogram. You said your family has a history of heart problems, right?"

Ace's face tightened by a fraction, but he nodded. He really hoped she wouldn't ask for details. He didn't want to have to tell her about his father's heart complications. He didn't want to have to 'talk' about his father at all.

"Then, yeah, I figure it's a good idea. How easily can you get air in and out of your lungs?"

'Fairly easily,' he signed.

"Okay. Then I'll hold off on the bronchodilators until we've got a serious problem. And I know I told you to stay in bed, but sit up on occasion. If you lay down too long, you could develop blood clots and I don't want to have to fucking cut you open again. Read me?"

Ace nodded and gave the thumbs up.

"Good. Now give me your arm."

Ace winced and did as he was told. He looked away and began reciting the first few laws of thermodynamics in his head. Needles creeped him out. Okay, so when they were lying on a counter, or whatever, they weren't that bad, but when they were going into somebody's flesh… God, it was just so creepy. It made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. He could deal just fine with the slight pinch. That part was easy as pie, and it wasn't like a D could ever be afraid of pain. You still couldn't pay him to watch the needle go in. Ew.

"You're done. Quit freaking out, you pansy. Hold that there-" she placed a wad of cotton in the crook of his elbow "-and I'm going to go examine this. I'll be back soon. Don't go anywhere." She left with the vial full of dark red blood and Ace was left alone in the sick bay, which overwhelmingly smelled of medicine and cleaning products. What he wouldn't give for the smell of Thatch's cooking instead.

* * *

><p>Whenever Ace was ill, he downed protein instinctively. Okay, so, technically, he did that regardless of his physical fitness, but the difference lay in how exclusively he consumed it. When he was well, he ate pretty much everything in sight, with special emphasis on proteins. When he was ill, he ate pretty much nothing <em>but<em> proteins. Well, he drank water, too, and took his vitamins like a good boy, but aside from that, he didn't venture far from what he considered comfort food and what other people considered a carnivore's diet.

Which was why he was eating shaved mesquite turkey and almonds plain. It wasn't even a meal. This constituted a snack, because like any good D, Ace could barely make it from mealtime to mealtime without complaining loudly about how hungry he was, and since his doctors wanted him to shut the hell up and heal properly, they had to choice but to acquiesce. Turkey and almonds. He was going to break into the applewood smoked ham soon if lunch wasn't ready yet. Maybe some of the leftover slices of beef that were used in a stir-fry last night. There was also some chicken in a kind of cherry-and-pineapple sauce that was fantastic. He could pick around the onions and peppers that were in there, too. Maybe he'd brave the carrots if he was feeling particularly ambitious.

He heard scuffling and distant shouts from down the hallway and paused. They were getting louder. A group of several people, Thatch and Phil included, burst into the sick bay, carrying a stretcher with a prone and bloodied figure collapsed there. Josh jumped up from his seat and directed them to a bed. Practically shouting over the sounds of the small congregation panicking, he ordered one of them to go find Selma, wherever she was. As the wall of bodies cleared slightly, Ace could just see the face of Charles on the bed. A chill went through him.

"Charles, what the hell happened?" Thatch finally got out over the other voices.

Charles began to try to speak, but began coughing wetly, spasms wracking his torso. "Arthur," he choked out. "It was Arthur. He cracked."

"Oh, God," Thatch said. "He couldn't have."

"He did," Charles said, coughing slight flecks of blood. "After his wife got murdered… Went crazy. Kept saying 'They're coming for me' and 'I have to get out'… Knew he'd cracked. Didn't want to say anything. Brothers."

"I understand," Thatch said. "You knew I'd take him off active duty if I thought he'd lost it, right? And you just wanted to protect your comrades. There's nothing wrong with that."

"There's everything wrong with that, Taichou! I got them-" he had a coughing fit again. "…I got them all killed."

"Are you saying Arthur killed Fourth Division Squad Eight?" Thatch asked quietly.

Charles nodded. "Kept saying, 'Maybe they'll forgive me now' each time he shot one of us down."

Ace didn't know what was happening to him as he listened to Charles speak. He felt so cold, but overheated at the same time. His head began to swim uncomfortably and the food he'd just eaten he most certainly wished he hadn't. His throat locked and his heart pounded in his ears.

Charles continued. "He thought he'd got all of us. Stuck the gun in his own mouth…" he whispered.

Ace's vision began to swim. He fought it with everything he could, but the numb feeling that had begun in his stomach was spreading to everything else. He tried to dig his nails into his palm, hoping the pain would snap him out of it, but to his horror, he found that he couldn't control his own hands that well at all.

"…There was blood everywhere…"

He couldn't listen any more. He had to get away from the words. They were crushing him.

Ace got up out of bed, ignoring the stabbing pains that went through him at the motion. Everyone was so fixed on Charles, thankfully, that they never saw him leave. That is, no-one but Thatch, who missed nothing.

Outside the door, he placed a hand on the wall, hoping to regain his sense of balance. The words still hung in the air, though. His limbs felt weak and his head was sinking into something liquid and viscous that was flooding everything in its path. He sank into the black and prayed that no-one was watching.

He wasn't sure how long he was out. It could have been a few seconds, or a few minutes. Selma's voice was asking him repeatedly whether or not he was all right and what the hell he thought he was doing being out of bed.

"'M all right," he slurred. "Not a problem."

"What did I say before? No speaking!" Selma growled, pleased as she was to receive any kind of response. "Come on; let's get you back in bed." She yanked him up by the arm, though cautiously enough not to agitate his punctured lung. He leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to regain some sense of reality. "Really though, are you all right?"

Ace nodded. Much to his own surprise, he was telling the truth. Charles's story had stopped, and the feeling that had damn near drowned his mind was receding quickly with it. The nausea and vertigo had all but gone and his head was clearing with each second that went by. He wouldn't mind lying back down again, but aside, from that, he actually felt pretty good. There was still the pain of the punctured lung, but he didn't really count that any more. It was a given, and hardly something Selma needed to hear about.

"Are you certain?"

Ace nodded as fiercely as he could.

She still looked skeptical, but accepted it, at least for now.

They re-entered the room and Ace was incredibly happy to see that no-one had noticed his little escapade. It was embarrassing enough that Selma knew about it, and he certainly didn't need that kind of 'are you okay?' drama from anyone else. What he failed to notice was the eye contact Selma and Thatch made as he made his way back over to his bed.

Selma went over the Charles's bed and she and Josh began to clean off his injuries in preparation for surgery. It seemed there were a few bullets lodged in his arm and leg, and more than a few serious lacerations. There were probably also a few broken ribs and a missing tooth.

Well, he was in the best possible hands, Ace reasoned. There was nothing that worrying could do to help him. The others, his friends from Fourth Division, clearly felt that they were going to be in the way if they stayed, and left after extracting promises to be notified of any change in their comrade's condition.

Ace just let himself slide back into the blackness, sleeping off the last vestiges of the strange and inexplicable nonsense that had come over him.

* * *

><p>"I don't know what the hell made him black out," Selma said. "You saw it, didn't you?"<p>

"Not all of it, but some, yeah," Thatch said.

"Did he start coughing? Could he not breathe? Did that lead to the black out, or what? Why did he feel the need to get up, even?"

"He didn't cough even once, Selma. He was breathing pretty heavy, but that was only after…"

"After what?" she demanded.

Thatch sighed. "Have you ever heard of empaths?"

"…Empaths?" she asked, eyebrow raised. "You gotta be fucking kidding me."

"I'm not. There are some people out there who are empathetic enough for simple expression of emotion is enough to cause severe physical… blowback? Ramifications? Complications? I don't know what the hell the word is."

Selma rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I think you're full of shit, but let's just say, hypothetically, that I was thick enough to believe you. You really think _Ace_ is an empath?"

"Empaths tend to try to distance themselves from other people. It's too much to handle sometimes. Hearing Charles talk made me a little ill, but only Ace outright had what looked like a panic attack to me. I mean, I realise it wasn't, because he could move… but just from what was on his face? He looked like a drowning man. No wonder he had to haul ass from the room. He didn't want to hear any more."

"He listened to a sad story… and passed out?"

"I know it sounds like bullshit, but it happens. There are documented cases of similar occurrences. The good news is, now that the stimulus is gone, he won't react quite so violently. The symptoms should be gone by now. He's fine," Thatch said.

"'Documented cases'? Care to produce one?" Selma asked.

"My sister, Thairlyn."

She blanched. "…Oh." She cleared her throat awkwardly. "Well, as long as he's not going to swoon on me any time soon, I suppose it's all right. Just know that if you're wrong about this, I'll flay you. And I'm still running as many tests as I can come up with to look for other causes. I'm not risking any surprises."

"That's fine," Thatch said, nodding. "Just don't tell him that that's why you're running tests. The poor bastard's gonna be embarrassed enough as it is."

She just grinned. "And that's supposed to dissuade me? See you around, Thatch-Taichou. And stop letting Ace mow through our deli meats. It's impossible to get a good sandwich with him monopolising all the good shit."

"I can try. No promises!" he called after her.

* * *

><p>(AN): Auntie should stop writing when she's hungry. Auntie should get some goddamn sleep. Auntie should stop being a melodramatic bitch and write a real chapter. But most importantly, Auntie should stop talking in the third person because it's fucking creepy.

Okay. I've wanted to write this chapter since… some time around chapter 7 or 8? Yeah. So, 32 chapters ago. I just never got up the balls to attempt it before. But people told me to keep writing, so I did. Got complaints? TOO DAMN BAD, because I did what I was told.

…And, just like that, I'm almost out of plot bunnies. On the other hand, WE'RE OVER ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND WORDS! JESUS ON A POGO-STICK, THAT'S A SHIT-TON OF WORDS. I'm psyched. Are you psyched? I'm psyched.

For those who are curious, empaths are real. It's a real thing. There are seriously people who cannot stand to hear about sad, painful, or psychologically stressful things without physically going through it themselves. They can't watch certain films because they react too strongly. They hear about horrible things on the news and have small breakdowns. And yes, it can lead to blackouts if the emotion conveyed is strong enough. It is an extremely crappy... situation? It's not precisely a disorder, but it sort of works like one. On the other hand, it works in the opposite direction: if someone around an empath is really happy, it tends to cross over, so at least that's good. Unfortunately, even that can have some adverse effects. Say a woman talks about how much she loves her husband to her friend who is an empath. The empath starts believing she's in love with her friend's husband even though they've never met. That's exactly the kind of stuff that can happen. It kind of sucks.


	42. Whenever the Hell Alabasta Happened

Hey, guys! So... please don't shoot me. It's almost finals week and I'm probably going to need whatever body part you decide to shoot.

**Whenever the Hell the Alabasta Arc Took Place**

Ace rubbed his forehead, trying unsuccessfully to stave off the rapidly-approaching headache. He caught sight of his reflection on the window behind Luffy's head and recognised the look, with some shock, as the same one he'd seen on Marco's face too many times to count. Usually, it was there whenever Thatch had managed to do something extraordinarily… peculiar. And that was putting it mildly.

"So… Let me get this straight," he muttered. "You beat up a Marine Captain." He raised one finger, counting up.

"Yup. Forgot his name, but he had an axe for an arm. And there was this weird thing on his face. Total jackass," Luffy said.

"…Uh-huh. And no-one reported it? Why?"

"Huh? Oh, that." Luffy shrugged. "Guess they weren't fond of him, either. I dunno."

Ace sighed deeply. "And that was right after freeing a criminal."

"Yeah, but Zoro didn't really do anything to get jailed, so it doesn't count."

"For once, I agree with you," Ace said. "But then you took out some dude called Buggy the Clown?" He raised a second finger.

"Was that his name? But yeah."

"And then –" the third finger "– you take out some guy who had a black cat fetish and was apparently some local strong type, along with his whole damn crew, which got you a ship."

"Yeah! That was when we picked up Usopp. Kaya's really nice. I think he likes her. Like, _likes her_, likes her. She gave us Merry! Actually, that was the name of her weird helper-dude. He said he designed the ship when he gave it to us."

"Right, right," Ace said absentmindedly. "And then, after that, you annihilated Don Krieg, the scariest damn pirate in the East Blue, not that that's saying much, all things considered." The fourth finger.

"Yup."

"And then you beat the shit out of Arlong of the Fishman Pirates, formerly of the Sun Pirates, the most powerful fishman conglomeration on the seas, straight out of the Grand Line and tough as all hell?" Fifth finger.

"He hurt Nami. The fucker had to die," Luffy said. He said it in a slightly more sobered tone, which most would miss, but Ace didn't.

"But he's still alive," Ace pointed out.

"Yeah. Well, probably. Ain't like we're pen pals or nothin'."

"And then you kept a deposed King the hell out of his country, which was going for democracy because the former King was a complete and utter douchebag – " the sixth finger " – and now you're helped a crazy princess save her country and halt a revolution."

"Yep. That's what I've been up to since I went to sea. That's all of it." Zoro had poked his head in at this point, also having heard Luffy's dangerous tone when the topic turned to Arlong from the next room over.

"How big is your bounty again?" Ace asked.

"Errr…" Luffy blanked.

Zoro filled in. "Thirty million, currently."

Ace just stared at them both, that incredulous 'Oh-Dear-God-my-Brother-is-Psychotic-But-the-Worst-Part-is-That-He's-Not-the-Only-One' look on his face, mouth slightly slack on one side and the entire other side of his face scrunched up in disbelief, as though squinting would somehow make it make more sense.

"You shouldn't have a bounty!" he finally said.

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" Luffy growled. "I've proved myself plenty! I ain't no little kid any-more! I earned that bounty, damn it!"

"I know you're not a kid, Luffy, and all that you've done _is_ hella impressive. Nobody's saying it's not," Ace said, playing peacekeeper, "but what I'm saying is that you… Well, you…"

"He what?"

"Yeah! I what?"

Ace sighed. "You haven't committed any crimes!"

Silence.

Zoro and Luffy traded looks with wide eyes, one in dawning comprehension and the other in mounting confusion.

"Well, damn," Zoro muttered.

"Er, Ace?" Luffy raised his hand like he was back in elementary school. "Ace, I dunno what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on, Lu'! First, the thing with the Marine Captain-"

"Captain Morgan," Zoro supplied.

"Him. With Captain Morgan, yeah, that was a crime, but you tell me it went unreported! According to the Marines, that never happened. Throw it out. Second," he was counting off on his fingers again, "the clown fucker. There is no law against beating up pirates. If there were, Marines would be twice the criminals pirates are. Third, the cat guy. Again, no laws against beating up pirates. The same goes for Don Krieg and Arlong, so there's Four and Five. Then for Six, the people of that country actually did all of the supposedly 'criminal' stuff, but then, a revolution isn't exactly illegal. In fact, even if it were, it wouldn't matter because the government would experience a massive upheaval and become irrelevant! Plus, the World Government has no jurisdiction over that country! You committed no crime there. And now, you're actually _helping_ royalty and the government, so…" Ace waved his hands wildly, gesturing at nothing and everything, "what the hell? You've never stolen anything! You've never kidnapped anybody!" He paused. "Wait, you haven't, right?"

"Right," Luffy said.

Ace nodded. "Okay. Good. But still! You have a bounty of thirty-goddamn-million beris, but you haven't done a damn thing to earn you that bounty! Officially, you're not a real criminal. Do you understand what this means?"

Zoro and Luffy shared that look again, but this time, both had faces full of confusion.

"Ugh," Ace groaned. "I'm up to my tits in morons." He got up off the floor and stuck his head in the room over where everybody was sitting and talking. "Yo! Guys!" The talking fell low. "Luffy's never actually committed any crimes, but he's got a bounty, anyway."

"Oh my goodness!" Vivi gasped, eyes going wide. She and Nami both looked downright disturbed.

"What of it?" Sanji asked.

"But I thought he was a pirate…" murmured Chopper. Usopp looked confused, as though he half-understood and half didn't.

"You don't get it, huh? I mean, it looks like you two get it – " he gestured to the women " – but not the rest of you. So lemme make this easy: Luffy got his bounty because he _said_ he was a pirate, not because he _is_ one."

"Wait… So they call you a criminal just because that's how you identify yourself, without any proof that you're actually a criminal?" Usopp asked, aghast.

"Bingo!"

"That's corrupt and depraved!" Vivi snapped. "What is the World Government thinking?"

"They're _not_. That's my best guess," Ace said. "And besides, we always knew they were pretty nutsy. Not like that's news to anyone. Right?"

Looks were exchanged all around the crew this time, although Vivi seemed to understand. Of course. She would. She'd grown up around Grand Line politics all her life, and could well understand just what went on behind all those closed doors. From the extended autonomy of her nation, he could only assume that her father also knew exactly how messed up the Government was, and had opted to stay out of it.

"This isn't going to work," Luffy said at last.

"Huh? What do you mean?" Nami asked. She, Zoro, and Ace all could smell the storm brewing within the little captain, although the others couldn't quite pick up on it yet, not having been a part of the crew as long.

"You guys," he said, twisting his hat more firmly onto his head, "we need to go steal some expensive shit. We need to _earn_ that bounty, dammit!"

All three of them managed to smack the shit out of Luffy at the same time.

* * *

><p>(AN): This has been floating around my head since I first watched One Piece back when I was… what, ten? I can't remember how long ago it was, but I was always confused as to why he had a bounty when he hadn't actually broken any laws. Well, not officially. If you look at it even more closely, up until the thing with the attack on Enies' Lobby, he still hadn't committed any crimes, and yet had a bounty of _one hundred million beris_. What the fuck, man. What the fuck. Actually, no. Taking in Robin was harbouring a fugitive. But seriously, that's all they've got him on.

Got finals coming up and still no plot bunnies. I don't even count this one.

Pottermore is out of beta! YAAAAAAAAAAY! Add me if you're on there! I'm "StoneChestnut25345". ^^


	43. Day 47

SO. BEEN A WHILE.

**Day 47**

"…Ace?"

"Yeah?"

"I know I should be used to asking this at this point, but… what the hell are you doing?"

"What does it look like? I'm sketching design plans."

Marco breathed deeply and let it out through his prodigious nose. "I hate to bring this up when it looks like you're having a good time and all, but nobody asked you to do that. And also, for God's sake, _why_?"

Ace gave him a derisive 'you-silly-bastard-when-will-you-learn' kind of look. "Whitebeard chucked me through a wall. I ended up in Izou's room. Izou's pissed there's a hole in his wall. Whitebeard's pissed there's a hole in his ship and also pissed that Izou's pissed, because when Izou's pissed, everybody's pissed. It is also kind of, sort of, a little my fault, so I came in here to get dimensions of the hole and see what I'd need to fix it and all that junk, but then I realised! Look," he said, gesturing widely to the rest of the room.

Marco shook his head slightly to clear it of the long stream of information. Looking at the rest of the room, he didn't understand what Ace was concerned about. "Er… what am I supposed to be looking at, pray tell?"

"Men," Ace huffed, rolling his eyes. "Tell me what you see."

"Bed. Nightstand. Table. Chair. Dresser. Window. Desk. Izou's makeup and shit. What do you want from me here, the chemical composition of the dust motes? It's all the same stuff that's in my room," Marco said.

"That's just it, Marco. Aside from the makeup, everything here is exactly the same as in your room. But you know what? That's not gonna cut it, now is it? Does _anything_ in this room scream 'Izou' to you?" Ace asked.

Marco looked around again. "Well… now that you mention it, no. But I don't really get why it's such a big deal. You just have to fix one stinking hole in the wall, right?"

"'Such a big deal'? '_Such a big deal_,' he says? Ugh. See, this is why I didn't consult you, Marco. Not that I don't value your opinion. Well, no – it's just, when it comes to _these_ things, I don't value your opinion. You can colour-coordinate your clothes, I'll give you that much. But when it comes to interior design, you have the taste of a blind army sergeant, which is to say, none at all," Izou commented, emerging from the doorway. "And who said you could be in my room in the first place?"

"Just wondering if you gave Ace permission to be in here, is all. I thought he was just going to fix the hole."

"That's just it!" Ace said, eyes shining. "What if I _didn't_ fix the hole? Or rather, the whole hole?"

"'The whole hole'? Did you really just say that?" Marco asked.

"Silence," Izou said. "Let him talk. He had a good idea with this one."

"Thank you. Anyway, if I just patch up the back of the hole and add some thinner wood to edge it, then hinge a door here, what's to say the hole couldn't function as a cabinet? Izou would have a place to put his knick-knacks and other nonsense where the tilting of the ship wouldn't affect anything too drastically, and there would be more room on his desk for actual work and important things rather than his makeup. Er, not that your makeup isn't important. Er, not that you need it! That's not why it's important! I – I'm gonna just stop there before I dig my grave any deeper," Ace said.

"Smart lad," Izou said. "But at any rate, when he pitched the idea to me, I wondered what else he might have up his sleeve. I asked him to sketch me a design for how to do my room in a way that _isn't_ exactly like everyone else's. I'm not a fan of fitting in, after all, and I've always felt that this room is a bit too… impersonal. And, if I end up not liking the design, I can just say 'no, thank you' and let him go about the business of patching up the hole his fat ass made in my wall."

"It's not my fault I'm fat!" Ace cried, fake-crying-like-a-teenaged-girl. "My mommy says I'm just full of feelings!"

"Or full of shit," Marco muttered. "So, you're really gonna let him go nuts in here?"

"If I like what he's got to offer."

"…I guess, since it's your room, you know what you're doing. Hey! That's right! What the hell would you know about interior design, Ace? Is this another one of your weird, out-of-left-field hobbies?"

Ace looked up from his sketch. "…Might be."

Marco looked peeved. "Okay, what _aren't_ you good at?"

"Dancing. I'm horrible at dancing."

"What, really? On a scale of drunken white boy trying to be gangster to Michael Flatley, how bad are we talking?" Izou asked, intrigued.

Ace gave them both a look. "Let's just say that when I dance, the former looks like the latter."

They winced in unison.

"May God have mercy on your soul," Izou muttered.

"Yeah, yeah. Do you want to see the dumb sketch or not?"

Izou gasped. "You're done? Oooh, let me see! Let me see!" He snatched the notepad away, looking from it to the room and back.

Marco craned his head over Izou's shoulder. "The hell are those?"

"Hanging closets. As the name implies, they hang from the ceilings and are made of cloth. Great for pants, undergarments… anything you don't mind folding up. They never get unbalanced if the weather's rough, you never stub your toe on the corner of the legs – because there aren't any, see – and if you need to get up in the middle of the night, running into it is no big deal because again, the thing is made of cloth and is filled with cloth. Also great for instant removal of items, so if Izou ever needs to just pack up and move to another room, or whatever, you can easily just unhook the top and drag the whole thing, instead of taking stuff out of the closet, re-folding it, sticking in a box, lugging the box over, taking everything out, re-folding it again, and sticking it in the new closet. It's a bad idea to combine me with wood… you know, really flammable and connected to the rest of the ship and all that… so a lot of the decoration I'm thinking of for this room is fabric-based, both so I'm capable of helping and so the room better suits Izou properly. I'm right when I say you're not a geometric kind of personality, right?"

"My, my, you do have good eyes, don't you?" Izou asked, pleased. "This is brilliant. Where did you think of such a thing as a hanging closet?"

Ace grinned and scratched the back of his head. "Well… back with my crew, when I first got my ship, we had these awful dressers. Whacked my toes on the damn thing every day. Designed these as a way around it. The rest of the crew liked them so much, we installed them in every room. Except for Darrow. He loved wood and wore steel-toed boots, so he it didn't really matter to him to make the change." Ace's face clouded a little bit, painful loneliness and nostalgia filling his eyes.

Izou and Marco traded concerned glances. "I love it," Izou said. "Do you think maybe we can ask around and see if others are interested, as well? I'm certain there are those whose toes have been jammed into a wooden corner before."

"If you want to, sure," Ace said, looking a little better.

"And the next port town we're in, we're buying some lumber and going fabric shopping. You and me. We're going to make it a thing. Also, brunch."

"Count me out. Fabric stores smell like grandmothers," Marco said.

"What the hell fabric stores have _you_ been frequenting?" Izou said. "Anyway, we need to know who else wants these things before we dock. Go ask around, because I have other shit to do."

"Okay, okay. I'm glad you like it," Ace said.

As he left, Izou closed the door, although the large hole in the wall made it something of an empty gesture. "So… Oyaji is serious about keeping him?"

"As serious as he's been about anything. I'm right there with him, truth be told," Marco said. "No matter how many holes his ass has made in this boat."

Izou smiled a little at this. "True. I had my doubts before he came to my room, begging forgiveness and asking if he could get dimensions and all this carpentry shit I didn't pay attention to. He's sweet when he wants to be, isn't he? And he pulls something like _this_ out of nowhere and I don't know what to think any more."

"Aye; he does that."

"He misses his crew, though. Granted, what captain wouldn't? We're not going to get him to give up on them so easily, nor they on him."

Marco rotated his jaw in thought. "I've been wondering if we necessarily have to."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, every now and then, the Spade Pirates catch up to us. Navigation's been giving us a heads-up every time they get close enough that we can tell who it is through a spyglass, but not with the naked eye. We send a ship out with someone or several someones to convince them to keep their asses away from us. They keep coming back and we keep having to keep Ace from knowing they're back."

"I told you they wouldn't give up so easily."

"'Giving up' is relative. Ace wants to be with his crew. His crew wants to be with their captain. We want to keep their captain. What's to say we can't have all three and invite his crew in, too?"

Izou's eyes widened. "Daaamn. I don't suppose Oyaji's heard a word of this."

"I should think not, considering I only thought of it just now," Marco said. "And besides, they're not going to join unless Ace joins. We're back to the whole 'getting Ace to like us' part of the bargain. If you're doing brunch and fabric shopping with him, I think we're doing okay on that front."

"Hm. That's reasonable. Except women often brunch with people they don't like in order to get what they want."

"You're not a woman, Izou, for all that you look and dress like one."

"Your head is in your ass, Marco, dear. You may want to look to that."

Marco shook his head, half-laughing. "I actually have work to do. I'm going to leave you to your bizarre-ness all by your lonesome, here. Tell me if something interesting happens or if Ace goes through another wall. I'm going to have to foot that lumber bill, you know."

"And the fabric bill."

"Since when?"

"Since we took three royal merchant ships two weeks ago. Are you remembering this? Are you also remembering the appalling amount of saffron and gold they had on board? Are you forgetting how much that goes for on the black market? I'm pretty sure I can expense account whatever the hell I want this month."

"I'm not winning this argument, am I?"

"No. I also want a pony. Make a note."

"You're cleaning up after it."

"Eh, we can make Ace do that."

"You are a horrible human being."

"It's a character-building exercise. My character is already wonderful. Ace's could use some work."

Marco gave up and left. This was how all their conversations ended up.

* * *

><p>(AN): Izou's character has always intrigued me (just because Oda has such a habit of veering away from anything traditionally Japanese, from names to clothes to languages to styles of government). So why did I almost never write for him? …Haven't the faintest.

Also, I can totally picture Ace being the worst dancer in the history of the world. The boy has to be bad at something, and in all the world, I can only picture him sucking at dancing. And politics. He'd be able to understand politics, but never actually do the spiel himself. Or debate, because he'd get all angry and forget to make sense.


	44. Day 11 (Hey, so, I'm not dead)

**Day 11**

"The fuck I will," Ace snapped.

"Don't make me hit you," Phil said, "'cause I will. Do you have any – _any_ – idea what it costs us to feed your black hole of a stomach? Do you?" He brandished his wooden spoon menacingly.

"I might have an idea; yeah," Ace said grudgingly. For years, living on Mt. Corvo, Ace had caught and cooked his own meals, which was to say that money was never a factor. Then he set out on his own for the Grand Line. All of a sudden, he didn't know what to hunt or where to hunt. The open ocean was a complete mystery in terms of what food could be derived from it. Even if he did manage to catch something, he had no idea how to cook it, or if it was even edible. What food he did procure had to be bought and paid for. That, or stolen. His wallet had taken one hell of a hit from that little incident. It wasn't until he met his first mate, Darrow, that he learned how to live mainly off of the sea and less out of his rapidly-thinning wallet. Even so, Ace had been holding back a bit in his appetite as Captain of the Spade Pirates. He hadn't wanted any-one else to go hungry for want of the food he inhaled. But now, aboard Whitebeard's ship, with his enemies footing the bills? He was going to eat everything in sight. Fuck, yeah. Because that was just how he rolled. Plus, it felt marvellous to finally eat his fill. He hadn't done that since… well, since being back on Mt. Corvo with Luffy. It was a wonderful, nostalgic feeling, for all that Ace was determined not to enjoy his time aboard the Moby Dick.

"Well, if you understand, then you should also understand that we have to pay for your continental appetite somehow," Ludo said in that low voice of his.

"And you're going to help mainly in the kitchens. The less oil and wood we have to burn to get the stoves lit will help out enormously with the costs. Come on, Sparky. You're going to learn to cook," Phil said.

"I know how to cook, asshole, and if you call me Sparky again, I will jam my foot so far up your-"

"This a bad time?" Thatch said. Where had he _come_ from?

"Taichou!" Phil said. "Uh, er – I was just explaining how Ace needs to work off all the food he eats. Cost-wise… not calorie-wise. Er, well, I suppose that, too…"

Thatch raised an eyebrow. "And why did nobody run this by me first?"

Ace felt stupid that a wee bit of hope had risen in him at that quiet, no-nonsense tone that he'd never heard Thatch use before. Maybe he was off the hook?

"Taichou, sir, he's eating through all our stock and the cost is getting ridiculous. We really need him."

"He's a guest. We don't put our guests to work like either slaves _or_ salarymen."

"Ehem. If I may," Ludo said. He leaned over and whispered something in Thatch's ear.

Thatch burst out in very loud, very nervous laughter. "That much! Oh, holy shit. Yeah, Ace. Sorry, kid, but your ass is stuck in the kitchens. Oh, Jesus. Please, God, tell me you haven't told that amount to Marco yet. He would flip shits. _I'm_ flipping shits. Dear Lord."

_Well_, thought Ace, _that hope went straight to bollocks._

"Hmph," Phil muttered. "I guess you weren't lying when you said you could cook. I take it you use your Logia for this sort of stuff a lot?"

"Here and there," Ace said. He was a little twerked that somehow these people were wrangling his life story out of him. Did they forget that whole little part where they _kidnapped_ him? Yeah. Maybe they were all being nice to get him to lower his guard. Well, that crap wasn't gonna fly.

"Well, we're doing Crème Douce. Know the recipe?" Ace gave him the most sarcastically incredulous face he could muster. "…I'm gonna take that as a no. Okay. Trim and cut up the chicken. However you cut it should be fine as long as you sear it. Get the edges just barely brown and turn down the heat. You're going to throw in everything on that list – " he pointed to a tatty, sauce-stained bit of paper haphazardly pinned to a cabinet door " – and then you're going to let it all boil. Throw in the pasta. Simmer for ten minutes. Stir it like crazy, because if you get pasta stuck to my good pots, I'm going to cook _you_ in them and see if that doesn't work to clean 'em off. If you could steam some broccoli and throw that in about three minutes before the ten minutes are up, you'd be my new favourite person. Got all that?"

Ace blinked rapidly. He probably got all that. He nodded, even though he had some serious concerns. Oh, man. He usually didn't work with recipes. He usually just tossed things in a pan and hoped for the best. Usually, it worked really well for him. His crew used to tell him he had a natural talent as a cook, especially after his Logia rendered him even better at controlling exact temperatures. Running flames over meat to quickly sear the outside sealed all of the juices in, and that made Ace's cooking pretty much the best thing ever. Still, he'd almost never wandered into the terrifying world of pasta. Adding spices in exact amounts was also very foreign.

He peered at the sheet of paper.

Oh, shit. He couldn't read it. Well, that word looked like 'milk'. That other word might be 'butter'. There was something else that looked vaguely like 'oregano', unless that bizarre g was actually a q. The rest was chicken-scratch, written by either a blind man or a doctor. The amounts were also impossible to make out, due largely to the great big stain that splashed across them.

Oh, man.

Wait.

Maybe this could work. After all, he was well-known among his own crew for being able to BS an entire recipe. Maybe he could make crap up and hope for the best like he always did. He had a vague idea of what it was supposed to be like from the few ingredients he could make out. Ace could just screw around with the rest of it until it sounded like something he'd willingly put in his face.

How could this possibly go wrong?

* * *

><p>Well, that was that. He'd done what he could and taste-tested it. It should be fine. It probably wasn't too much like what Phil had been going for with the menu, but what the hell. He'd had to go through far too many cabinets just to unearth the spices he needed, but he had triumphed. Ace tried to remember to be bitter that people he didn't like were eating his cooking, but just couldn't manage it. Nothing raised his spirits quite like a fully-stocked spice cabinet and sustained pyrotechnics.<p>

Okay, so he'd put in a shit-ton of Cajun spice and chilli pepper flakes. Nobody was going to notice, right? It would have been bland with just butter, flour, and chicken stock. Nothing wrong with a little kick. He'd tried it himself a couple times throughout the process and it wasn't like he'd over-seasoned or anything.

The pasta was just about done. The ten minutes were almost up, but Ace thought they could use just a little bit longer than the recommended time. He wasn't a fan of pasta al dente. Besides, the softer they were, the more they soaked up the sauce.

"Yo, Ludo? I think we're done here. What do I do now?" he called.

Ludo was towards the back of the kitchen, putting together some pastry-like contraptions for dessert. "Hm? Oh. Hang on; lemme take a look."

Oh, muffins. He was going to check what Ace had done. Whether the result was tasty or not, was he gonna get pissed that Ace didn't follow his illegible recipe? Some people were like that. Ace also had no reason to believe anyone would be lenient. "I-I couldn't read the recipe, so I kind of… well, I-"

"Shut up."

Criminey. Ace should've fucking known. Why didn't he think to just ask what was written? Surely Ludo knew what it was supposed to say and could've given him a pointer or two. Ace was just so used to taking care of his own problems.

Ludo grabbed a pair of tongs and snatched a piece of chicken out of the mixture, popping it in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, face screwing up as he gazed into the depths of the massive stock pot.

"What's in this?" Okay, he didn't sound too pissed. That was a good sign, right?

"Chicken, dipped in egg yolk and fried, egg noodles, salsa, three types of cheese, taco seasoning, cream of chicken base, and minced tomatoes?" Ace said.

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"Telling you." Ace wiped his hands on his pants. He hadn't sweated in a long time.

Ludo stared at him with narrowed eyes for a long time. "This…" Ace braced himself for the reprimand he _knew_ had to be coming, "…is some of the most delicious shit I've ever eaten. Write this down somewhere so the rest of the boys know how to do it. Also, good job not setting the kitchen on fire."

Well, that was dizzying. Ace couldn't help the dazed grin that bloomed on his face. He did good! A real chef said so! He glowed with the praise, fighting down the smile so Ludo wouldn't think his opinion meant something to Ace or anything. It wasn't like Ace craved anyone's approval. Not even a little bit. Nope.

* * *

><p>That night, instead of eating in his little corner of the deck, he ate in the mess hall with everyone else. He still stayed in the corner, more out of habit than anything else. He wanted to hear people's reactions to the food, especially since they didn't know who made it. Okay, so Ace was a little bit of a compliment whore. He'd been having a rough time of it lately, so who could blame him?<p>

People were so busy shovelling food into their mouths, though, that there wasn't much commentary on the quality of the food. Ace somewhat expected that. Once the stock pot's contents were demolished, there was considerable demand for more of it, and really, that was what he'd been waiting for. He didn't bother hiding the massive smile and the well of pride, mentally high-fiving himself.

Somewhere are dessert, when people were eating a little more slowly, conversations blossomed. Someone leaned over and struck up conversation with one of the nurses whose name Ace didn't know.

"So, how's Oyaji? He feeling any better?"

The nurse gave a slight smile around her unidentified pastry. "He seems so, yeah. The bleeding stopped, far as we can tell. Internal bleeding is always so hard to identify, though, so he's got to be careful for a few more days at least."

Ace froze. Oh shit.

Internal bleeding.

Any irritant could start it back up.

What was one irritant?

Cayenne.

What was in the dinner?

_Motherfucking cayenne_.

Well, this was going to be awkward to explain. Or maybe he could get away with never explaining it. There was one thing he thought might help, and maybe if he took care of it before it got to be a problem… Maybe nobody would ever find out that Ace screwed up a little.

It didn't really occur to him that maybe some internal bleeding was exactly what he wanted for Whitebeard.

He darted into the kitchen. Thankfully, all the chefs had gone into the mess hall to eat.

Where was the damn icebox?

He found the stupid thing and rooted through it immediately. He could have cried when he found exactly what he was looking for. Then he remembered seeing some of that other thing in one of the cabinets back when he'd been looking for the cheese… Aha! Bingo. A little simmered water (not boiling, not quite, in the interests of keeping from scalding anyone's digestive tract) and maybe Ace could seriously pull this off.

It didn't occur to him until he was standing outside Whitebeard's cabin door with a mug of herbal tea and a plate of fresh pineapple and blueberries that explaining his sudden desire to wait on Whitebeard hand and foot would be awkward. Maybe he could just…

The door opened in such a way that Whitebeard would know of an intruder long before they could confirm his presence. It was set up like that on purpose to foil any potential assassins or attackers, but in this case, it would help Ace. Whitebeard never had to see his face; just his arm putting the food into room. This plan was gold.

He went ahead and did it. He put the plate of fruit and the steaming mug down without Whitebeard ever seeing him. God, he was so smart.

"Ace?"

He froze. In careful falsetto, he said, "No… I'm… well, I'm not Ace."

"Ace, your name is tattooed on your arm. I know it's you, boy."

"Uhhh… No, it's not. Just… eat your damn fruit and drink your damn herbal tea!" Why he was still doing the falsetto thing when he was obviously busted, Ace had no idea. "They're anti-inflammatories. Just do it."

And with that, he hauled ass.

Whitebeard just chuckled from the bed.

"My boy," he said to the open air, "you are out of your tiny little mind."

* * *

><p>(AN): So... been a while, huh? It hasn't been a complete year, but... yeah. Okay. I wrote the first 1500 words of this a long time ago for Shiary, and then water got on my laptop and shorted out my poor baby. Rest in peace. I thought I'd lost all of my files, but they backed up what I had on my hard drive, because the water had just damaged my laptop's ability to function, not the data already stored. For some reason, though, I still thought that this chapter had been decimated, and wasn't looking forward to writing it all over again when I was convinced that the first 1500 words had gone terribly.

Imagine my surprise and shame when I find the file completely intact. Yeah. So I finished it up and wrote the other 1000 words. Also, believe it or not, I have a plan for next chapter. Maybe I can finally finish this story up instead of leaving you poor bastards hanging for another almost-year. *sobs*

In other news, are any of you guys Supernatural fans? If you haven't seen it yet, but really like the brotherly dynamic I feature heavily in this story, I would suggest watching it. It's a little scary in the first two seasons, but it's really good. Sam is basically everything I ever wanted Ace to be when he grew up.


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